The Silent Game
by Little Box Of Secrets
Summary: Sequel to "Trust The Silence" That day had come much sooner than any of them had thought. Who will survive this newest puzzle that will change lives for ever?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**

_Sequel to "Trust The Silence"_

_That day had come much sooner than any of them had thought, pushing them all to new limits, testing more than just the friendships between the three flatmates. It would test their very persons in a game of trust, friendship and tolerance. Who will break and who will stay steady? Who will decide that they can't take anymore of it? And who will survive this newest puzzle that will change lives for ever?_

**The Silent Game**

**A Proper Silence**

Rose Spencer glanced around the room again, taking in the cold light against the green walls, rows of table and chairs in the room. In front of her sat a large looking man, built with muscle and a short layer of spiky hair on his head.

Sherlock had agreed to a consultation and, being his assistant, she had come along to do whatever she could to help him. This was not what she had in mind when she took the job, but she wouldn't have said no if she had known. The Consulting Detective had brought her all the way to Minsk, Belarus to see a criminal who was to hang for the murder of his girlfriend.

"Just tell us what happened from the beginning." Sherlock said, sounding bored and looking completely relaxed. Rose was a little less comfortable in the large hall.

"We'd been to a bar." Explained the man in the orange suit. "Nice place, and, err, I got chatting with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't too happy with that, so… when we get back to the hotel, we end up having a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?" Sherlock let out a large sigh and Rose could tell that he wanted to go home already. "She's always getting at me, saying I weren't a real man."

"Wasn't a real man." Corrected Sherlock in a bored tone. Rose hid her surprise at the correction well. The man opposite them didn't.

"What?"

"It's not _weren't_, its _wasn't." _Explained Sherlock; he hated bad grammar, but improper English always bugged him.

"Oh." Said the man if front of them, glaring at Sherlock slightly.

"Go on." Said Rose, wanting to avoid a fight in a Russian prison hall.

"Well…then, I don't know how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands…and you know me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives. He learned us how to cut up a beast." The man said, getting back into his little story.

But Sherlock had to correct him again. "Taught."

"What?" The man was getting a little agitated now.

"_Taught_ you how to cut up a beast." In any other situation, Rose may have laughed at the improbability of Sherlock saying the word _beast_, but she held in her laughter, but a small half smile crept up on her.

"Yeah, well then I done it." He finished, wanting the consultation over with now.

"Did it." And that was the last straw for the murderer in front of them.

"Did it! Stabbed her!" He shouted, the smile slipping off her face the only sign that she was distressed. "Over and over, and I looked down, and she weren't…" Sherlock just let out a long drawn sigh. "…_wasn't_ moving no more." Sherlock looked away again. "_Any_more." Corrected the man, learning his lesson it seemed. "God help me, I don't know how it happened, but it was an accident, I swear."

Sherlock pushed away from the table, Rose following him a moment later. "I think we're done here."

"Eh, you've got to help me Mr Holmes!" Sherlock stopped at the mans words, Rose getting a bad feeling in her gut. "Everyone says you're the best." _Feeding his ego will do you no good, _she thought. _It wont do me any good either_. "Without you… I'll get hung for this."

Rose saw Sherlock turn to him slightly. "No, Mr Buick, not at all." He smiled coldly. "Hanged, yes." With that, he turned away, Rose following after, not looking back at the dead man walking.

Holding the door for her as they got outside, Sherlock walked, though decided to teach Rose a small lesson. "Language is important Rose. What ever one you do choose to speak, speak it properly."

She shoved her hands deep into the wool lined pockets of her thick coat. "Duly noted Sherlock." She said with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Silent Game**

**The Silence of Problems**

A few days later, back in 221B Baker Street, John Watson ran up the stairs of their flat on hearing gunshots.

He flew into the living room, hands covering his ears, only to find Sherlock slumped in a chair, arm outstretched, gun in hand, pointing in the direction of the sofa. Said sofa was currently occupied by Rose Spencer, book in hands, jaw clenched in concentration. Behind her was a smiley face in yellow spray paint - that though they hadn't said, Rose and John thought had come from the smugglers case - painted onto the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" John shouted.

"Multi tasking." Sherlock said, though he sounded very bored.

"In a very clever way." Expanded Rose, not looking up from her book. John had wondered if working for Sherlock would have a good influence on him, but now he wondered if it was simply the opposite.

"Multi tasking?" Asked John, trying to understand the method behind the madness.

"A new trust exercise." Elaborated Rose.

"And desensitisation to gun fire." Said Sherlock, pushing himself up off the chair, aiming at the wall again.

"No..." Said, John, covering his ears again.

But Sherlock just fired the gun a few more times, aiming behind his back then standing straight to inspect the damage to the wall, pulling his dressing gown straight. "Also bored though." He said, moving over to the sofa, which he promptly threw himself on, causing Rose to scramble away quickly. She pushed his arm lightly, and decided to sit on the chair next to him, still reading her book.

"And you think the wall is good sacrifice material?" said John, taking the gun off Sherlock as he passed, turning the safety on again, and emptying the cartridges, storing them in a draw in the desk before going to sit in another chair. He'd have to keep an eye on the gun from now on, he decided.

Sherlock just sighed. "The wall had it coming."

"What about that Russian case?" Asked John, who had been asleep when they got in late the night before and had to leave for work before either got up that morning.

"Belarus? Open and shut domestic murder." Explained Rose, looking up slightly.

"Not worth my time." Muttered Sherlock.

"Oh, shame." Replied John sarcastically before going to make himself a tea.

"I see you've written up the taxi case." Sherlock said a few minuets later after John had sat down.

"Uh oh…" Rose muttered, sinking in her seat a little bit, knowing what was to come. John saw this and frowned slightly.

"Um… yes." John was weary of Sherlock now, wondering what the unpredictable man would do next.

"_A Study In Pink_. Nice." Sherlock complemented. It only made John more apprehensive about what the man would say.

"Well, you know. Pink lady, pink case, pink phone; there was a lot of pink." He though about his next question before asking it, figuring he may as well. "Did you like it?"

"Umm…no." Sherlock said, throwing John off a bit.

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

Sherlock put down the magazine he had picked up, looking over to John, Rose just watching conspicuously behind her book. "Flattered? _Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things_." Sherlock had found he was quite offended by the words from his friend.

"Hang on a minute, I didn't mean that…" He tried to say, but he was cut off by his temperamental friend. He hadn't even thought Sherlock would read his blog.

"Oh, you meant _spectacularly ignorant _in a nice way." Sherlock said, is sarcasm levels getting a little higher since Rose had moved in he noticed. "Look, it doesn't matter to me who's prime minister…"

"Yeah, I know." Muttered John, remembering that particular conversation. He doubted he would forget it.

"…or who's sleeping with who…" Sherlock carried on.

"Or whether the earth goes round the sun…" Carried on John for him.

Sherlock just sighed, rolling his eyes at the useless topic. "Oh, not that again… It's not important!"

The more she thought about it, the more she saw Sherlock was actually right; what difference did it make what the earth did, or the little details about things that she really would never use. She just didn't understand how he didn't remember these things.

"Not impor..?" Muttered John incredulously; he still didn't believe that the genius hadn't know that particular little fact. "It's primary school stuff! How can you not know that?"

"Well, if I did I've deleted it." Sherlock said, thinking that it would be the end of the matter. He was wrong; just for a change.

"Deleted it?" John asked, Rose putting down her book, deciding that the conversation was getting far too interesting now.

Sherlock sat up, pointing to his right temple with a bony finger. "Listen. This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful. Ordinary people fill their head with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?" He implored his friend to understand, knowing that Rose, though she may not fully understand, would at least let him get on with whatever he wanted to do.

John looked at him for a second, then shrugged. "But it's the solar system!" He implored.

"Oh, hell!" Sherlock cursed in frustration, rubbing his hands over his face. "What does that matter? So we go round the sun. If we went round the moon, or round and round the garden, like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference!" Rose noted he looked a little insane at one point, simply raising an eyebrow and picking up her book again. "All that matters is the work; without that my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or, better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world!" With that final snide comment, Sherlock pushed a magazine on the table and curled up on the sofa, facing the other way.

Rose just sat there - knowing from arguments between her brothers in the past to simply let them sort it out between them - as John got up again, leaving his tea behind and grabbing his coat.

Sherlock turned over at the movement though, watching as John moved to the door. "Where're you going?" He asked, as though they hadn't just had a row.

"Out! I need some air!" John called back, slamming the front door on his way out.

Sherlock jumped up, going the window to watch as John crossed the street. "Look at that Rose." He said absently, making her look up in worry. She knew they were close and probably the best of friends, but Sherlock didn't quite understand that; not just yet anyway. She hoped they would patch things up soon. Sherlock carried on quietly. "Quiet. Calm. Peaceful." He sighed. "Isn't it _hateful_?"

"I'm sure everything will turn our alright, you know. It always does. And people can never stop killing for long." Rose replied in a soft voice, trying to cheer him up a bit.

"Can't come too soon." He replied.

Rose looked up to see what he had done to the wall. "Jesus, Sherlock!" She exclaimed quietly, getting up for a closer look, looking back to him with a shocked expression on her face. He just grinned a wide and obviously fake grin to her, letting it drop and looking towards the kitchen.

In that moment, Sherlock flew forward, Rose flying backwards as the windows exploded inwards, dust filling the room, alarms filling the air that remained.

Sherlock groaned as his body ached, the aftermath of the explosion causing him to just want to got to sleep right where he was. He soon remembered he wasn't along though, and pushed himself up, choking on a bit of dust, trying to find his remaining flatmate. He heard a groan from the other side of the room and made his way over to her, quickly but carefully, minding the broken glass on the floor.

As the dust cleared, he found her, pulling herself into a sitting position, using the sofa to help her. "Sherlock?" She called worriedly.

"Here." He answered, her head snapping to him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, just a bit out of it. You?" She asked, coughing slightly.

"Fine." He answered as she pulled her self to sit on the now very dusty sofa. As she did so he noticed she winced as she moved her right knee, going a slight shade paler and swallowing.

He moved over to her now sitting frame, sitting to her right. On closer inspection, he saw a large cut in her black jeans, exposing bloodied and pale skin. He frowned, knowing that it would be best to deal with it as soon as possible. Knowing that John wouldn't be home for a while, he thought he may as well take a look at it himself.

He pointed to her injured knee. "Let me take a look at that for you."

She immediately paled, shifting away from him slightly. His frown deepened at this, and her quick answer of, "No."

"Rose…" He said, thinking that though she may not like being doctored, this was not her usual reaction to the offer; she was hiding something else. "Let me see." He said, making his voice a little softer, hoping she would let him treat her wound.

She saw that he was not going to give up and resigned herself to the fact that he would find out sooner or later; he was Sherlock Holmes after all. She gulped again, moving her knee closer to him so he could see it.

He pulled out the first aid kit that was conveniently stored next to the sofa and took out an antibacterial wipe to clean the wound. She noticed with a little surprise that though he may not be the most soft worded man, he worked quickly and gently.

She saw when he froze though, closing her eyes and turning away from him, crossing her arms, nails digging into her palms to distract her from the long since felt sensation of a cut in her skin. It was a different feeling from anything else, making her feel guilty at remembering how it had felt so many years ago; it was not a feeling that had changed.

Sherlock wiped the blood away from the cut, revealing a shallow slice of a cut in her pale, smooth skin, just a few inches in size, but that wasn't the only thing he found. Amongst the drying scarlet were six, four inch, thin white scars, too clean to be accidental by any means. The realisation hit him like a train; she had been a self harmer.

He looked up to see her not looking at him, tensed as though about to be shouted at, knuckles white. She was ashamed of her past. He could understand that, but didn't want it to hold her back. He had admitted that though he was never addicted, his life was hardly a good one back then, and he was better for having quit - even if he still did want to feel the familiar substance running through his veins again every once in a while.

He wondered what he was meant to do to fix the young woman, not wanting her to feel ashamed for what happened in her past. He remembered the first day he had started to teach her and she had asked why he had quit smoking. He had lied but she still tried to make him feel a bit better, giving her own experience to try to relate to him a little bit. Should he do the same?

Rose awaited the accusations and whatever else he would say, but they never came. She still didn't move though, only opening her eyes slowly when she heard her name.

"Rose." He said quietly, sounding oddly comforting. She saw he had pushed up his left dressing gown sleeve up to just above his elbow. She frowned and tried to find what he was obviously trying to show her. It didn't take her long.

In the crook of his arm were several small white scars, so small she almost missed them. She remembered the first night after moving in with the two men; the drugs bust, the insinuations. _It was true_, she thought with dull surprise. She looked up to meet his eyes, seeing the emotion in them, seeing they had something in common.

"There's no need to be ashamed for having a past." He said quietly, pulling down his sleeve again. She just nodded a little, still feeling ashamed, but not so alone in it anymore.

She sighed, pushing her feelings away again, suddenly wanting to sleep and just not get up again. "Come on, lets leave this all for now. I'm too tired to clean, I'll do it in the morning. I don't know about you, but I'm gonna go to sleep."

He looked at her as she stood, looking at him expectantly. He noted the tiny cuts and scrapes that were along her arms, a couple on her face as well. "Good plan." He said finally, closing the topic of pasts and what they once held. He saw she didn't want to talk about it any more, and so let it drop. "You go get some sleep." He told her.

She just huffed slightly, giving him a half smile and going to the door way, looking back to the dust and glass covered room. Her gaze fell on Sherlock again, still watching her. "Can you not tell John please? Like you said, it's in the past." She asked him, hoping he would comply. He nodded though, making a smile tug at her lips in gratitude. "Thanks Sherlock." She said, meaning more than just his promise of silence. "G'night."

As he heard her door close, Sherlock sat back on the sofa, thinking over what had happened with both John and with Rose. He would find out more about the explosion in the morning, but his flatmates were his priority at the moment. After an hour or so of thought though, he decided that he should sleep, knowing that tomorrow would be a busy day; Mycroft would surely call in, John would still be annoyed with him and Rose would be watching to see if he had kept his word. On top of that he would have to deal with the explosion and possibly a new case, if he was lucky enough.

Laying in his bed half an hour later, Sherlock found himself drifting off to sleep. But before he got there, he discovered he was worried that Rose would be alright about what had happened. He fell asleep before he could push the thoughts away however.

It seemed that her and John were having a humanizing effect on the Consulting Detective.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Silent Game**

**Silence The Morning After**

Rose woke up only a few hours later, somehow feeling awake, though when she checked her alarm she found it was three in the morning. She figured she may as well take advantage of her energy and headed to the shower.

As she got dressed in a plain black, long sleeved shirt and another pair of jeans - she would have to bin yesterdays - she thought about what she would need to clean up the living room. Slipping on her steel toe capped boots again, she went upstairs to set about to work.

John's smile fell off his face as he watched the news on the television screen; _a massive explosion in central London, house destroyed on Baker Street._

He got up quickly, grabbing his coat, shouting to Sarah that he had to run, apologising as he went.

At seven in the morning, on the dot, a knock came from the front door. Rose frowned, looking around the now half decent living room, wondering who on earth it could be, calling at this time. Going downstairs and opening the door, she then found herself instead wondering why she hadn't thought of the possibility before.

"Good morning, Mr Holmes." She said smiling to him as though the street wasn't full of police officers and TV camera crews, recording the morning news.

"Morning, my dear. May I come in?" He said, looking expectantly to her.

She just smirked slightly. "Of course." She said, stepping to the side to let the man in, closing the door and following him up the stairs. "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please." He said, sitting in one of the chairs.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, she leaned against the door frame between the kitchen and the living room, arms folded. "Apologies about the mess. We had a bit of an explosion last night."

He smiled slightly at her offhanded nature of such a thing, as though it happened every day. "I heard. I do hope you are all well."

He noted her smile faded slightly at the mention of any sort of injury. "Only a few cuts and bruises, nothing too serious." With that she turned to make the man his tea, hearing Sherlock's bed springs squeak, pulling out a mug and pouring him his own drink for when he showed up.

Taking the drinks to the living room, she handed one to Mycroft and put the other on Sherlock's desk. "He shouldn't be too long." She informed the older Holmes.

"I'm sure." He replied, smiling up to her. She just went to the sofa and sat down, lighting a cigarette and taking a well deserved break from her several hours hard work.

Sherlock made his way to the kitchen, mind on finding out what happened, how to avoid his big brother and making a nice cup of coffee. However he found that two of his plans were not needed.

Coffee was on the desk.

Mycroft was in one of the chairs.

He frowned at Rose on the sofa, somehow thinking it was her fault; both of them.

She just smiled up at him happily, cigarette half burned out. "Morning Sherlock."

Sherlock threw her a light glare - which she playfully returned - and turned to his brother, picking up his violin on his way to sit opposite him. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

"To make sure you are alive, of course." Was the sarcastic reply he got. Rose chuckled quietly on the other side of the room.

"And the real reason?" Asked Sherlock, starting to pluck random notes on the small instrument, a sour look on his face.

"A case for you." Mycroft explained. Rose sat up a little more, knowing she would need to start concentrating on all the details from this point onwards.

Sherlock however had other ideas. "Not interested."

"Perhaps not, but the case is of great importance either way." Mycroft countered, expecting the reaction he got.

"And what is importance when the case is not interesting?" Sherlock asked, for what must have been the hundredth time.

Mycroft sighed and looked to his little brother in an annoyed manner. He too remembered their countless conversations on such matters. "We've been over this Sherlock."

"Yet you still try, time and time again." Sherlock said absently.

Rose watched the banter between them, smiling at their ways. Exhaling a puff of smoke, she watched it as she put in her little bout of effort. "You could hear him out, Sherlock." The men simply ignored her though, as she had expected.

Ten minutes later, John burst through the front door. "Sherlock! Rose!" He called, sounding worried for them.

Bursting into the living room, John saw Sherlock glance up from his chair, violin in hand, sitting opposite Mycroft, who spared him a glance. Rose was sat on the sofa, legs curled up, one hand supporting her head as she leaned on the arm of the piece of the furniture, the other hand resting on her knee.

"John." Sherlock greeted, Rose simply waving at him. He frowned, waving back a little unsure of himself.

"I…saw it on the telly. Are you ok?" John said, getting back to his purpose for coming home earlier than he had planned, looking between his two flatmates.

"Me? What? Oh, yeah, fine." Sherlock said, coming out of his deep thoughts.

"Rose?" John asked, looking her over carefully, knowing she probably wouldn't' tell him if she thought is wasn't serious; he would probably disagree. Mycroft noticed Sherlock glance over to the woman, waiting on her answer.

"Just a couple of bruises, John, nothing to worry about." She lied easily, though both Holmes brothers caught the protective move of her hand, covering the cut on her knee a little more. Sherlock just went back to plucking his violin while Mycroft tried to figure out what was really wrong with the woman.

"Hmm…" John said, not quite believing her.

"Gas leak, apparently." Sherlock told them, Rose catching his slight disbelief in the story.

While John looked at the damage to the windows, Sherlock had decided he had had enough of Mycroft's presence for one day. "I can't." He told him.

"Can't?" Mycroft didn't quite believe him though, knowing his track record of skipping cases that Mycroft gave him.

"Stuff I've got on is just too big. Can't spare the time." Sherlock explained, an ever so slight trace of sarcasm colouring his tone.

Mycroft sighed. "Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance." _Not that it made much difference anyway_, he thought.

Sherlock flicked several strings, looking up to his brother. "How's the diet?"

Mycroft gave him a look, noticing Roses' slightly raised eyebrow in his peripheral vision. "Fine." He insisted, before turning to John. "Perhaps you can get through to him John?" Rose just smirked at this; she had really not bothered trying at all, knowing that if Sherlock didn't want to do something, he simply wouldn't.

"What?" Asked the doctor, looking from Mycroft to Rose to Sherlock and back again.

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent, unlike some." His gaze flickered to Rose, and she just glared lightly at him.

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock asked, looking down to the musical wooden box as he played a few more notes.

"No, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so…" Mycroft then became aware of three sets of eyes watching him, smirking at the cliff hanger he had given them. "Well… you don't need to know about that, do you?" He smirked at his younger brother, knowing the lack of information would annoy him somewhat. "Besides, a case like this, it requires.." He pulled a face at the thought. "…legwork."

Sherlock turned his attention to John instead. "How's Sarah, John? How was the Lilo?"

Mycroft interrupted though, correcting him as he had done when they were younger. "Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa."

Sherlock just looked John up and down quickly. "Oh, yes, of course." He muttered, going back to his note plucking.

John looked from one Holmes to the next, then looked back to Rose, who simply shrugged. "How…? Oh, never mind." _Just a Holmes thing, _he decided.

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you all became…pals. What's he like to live with, John? Hellish, I imagine." Mycroft said, both annoying Sherlock and Rose - he was openly ignoring her, excluding her from the conversation. As her flat mates had learned on their first evening together, Rose Spencer didn't like to be ignored.

"I'm never bored." John answered, going to sit next to Rose.

"Good. That's good, isn't it?" Mycroft got up, Sherlock brandishing his bow at him, as through threatening to run him through, should the man go any closer. Mycroft just rolled his eyes at him, moving to give the folder in his hand to John.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. Civil servant. Found dead on the tracks at Battersea station this morning with his head smashed in." Mycroft explained rather grimly.

"Jumped in front of a train?" Suggested John, taking the file, looking through it quickly.

"Seems the logical assumption." Replied Mycroft.

"But..?" Asked Rose, knowing there was something more to it.

"But?" Questioned Mycroft in return.

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident, Mr Holmes." She replied. She noticed Sherlock's smile at her deduction, the small expression only serving to encourage her.

Mycroft looked around the room, taking every tiny detail. "The MoD is working on a new missile defence system, the Bruce-Partington Program, it's called." He explained, sounding quite proud of the project, before going back to his usual voice. "The plans for it were on a memory stick."

John chuckled. "That wasn't very clever." Sherlock chuckled at the comment, Rose smirking. Mycroft wondered if it would be wise to let them keep living together; they were already as thick as thieves, so to speak.

"It's not the only copy." He assured them.

"Oh…" John almost sounded disappointed.

"But it is secret." Mycroft told them. "And missing."

"Top secret?" John asked. He was in an unusually happy mood, feeling more comfortable around the usually creepy man, having now the knowledge of who he was, while being in his own home with his two flatmates and friends.

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." He turned to his younger brother again. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock." Sherlock didn't reply, only rosining up his bow. "Don't make me order you."

Sherlock just pulled his violin up to tuck his chin under it, placing the bow on the strings. He looked his big brother in the eye, a challenge in both sets of cold blue watchers. "I'd like to see you try."

"Think it over." Said Mycroft lowly, smile maniacal, eyes wide. He turned to John again. "Good bye John." They shook hands, and Sherlock started to play a random stream of fast notes on his instrument.

Rose sighed, getting up off the sofa. "I'll see you out, Mr Holmes."

He just looked over to her. "Thank you, my dear." Then he headed for the door, Rose just behind him.

At the bottom of the stairs, Mycroft turned to her again. "Try to get him to take the case will you, Miss Spencer?" He found it best not to annoy people when you wanted something from them.

She just smirked however. "I'll see what I can do." She held out a hand for him to shake. "Well, is it just me, or has a lack of threats lead to more civil conversation?" She asked him, smirk on her lips, tone slightly supirised.

"It's just you I think, my dear. Besides, we haven't gone our separate ways just yet." He replied, a smug mischief in his eyes. He had, after all, worked out what was wrong with the woman earlier, remembering the file on her life sitting in his desk draw at the office.

"Oh, I'm sure if you had anything, you would have used it by now, Mr Holmes." She said, knowing that she was simply challenging him. He accepted it gladly.

He brought up his right hand, running the back of his pointer finger over her neck gently, looking her in the eyes as he did so. "You would think so, my dear, wouldn't you?" He said quietly, running his hand from one side of her neck to the other and back again. "Your neck has healed nicely, I see." He told her, dropping his hand from the slightly browned skin, still keeping eye contact. "I hope your knee heals just as well." He said, noting the new shade of pale she turned at the mention of her knee.

She had not thought that many people knew about that, and her knee was only sliced the night before, but of course this was Mycroft Holmes; if he wanted it, he could get a file on anything he wanted probably and coupled with the Holmes quirk - as she had come to call it - she wouldn't be surprised if he could recite her entire life back to her.

So she kept herself composed, letting an easy smirk cross her lips. "I do hope my file didn't bore you too much, Mr Holmes. It must be quite the cure for insomnia."

He was surprised she had not backed down at the slight mention of her darker past, but even more so about her quick deduction about her folder. It only showed for a second though, before he once again covered it over. "On the contrary, Miss Spencer. It was quite the colourful story to read."

She opened the front door for him, holding it open. "Well, I do love colour." She said. He simply chuckled slightly at the irony of the statement.

Stepping out into the cold weather, he turned back to her. "See you soon, my dear."

"Don't keep me waiting too long, Mr Holmes." She replied cheekily as he walked away. As she closed the door again, she swore she heard him chuckle again.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Silent Game**

**A Case of Silence**

Going back into the living room again, she heard John speaking."…a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding."

"That and Rose's lessons." Sherlock agreed.

Rose sat on the sofa again, curling up as she had before. "Why, may I ask, did you tell your brother you were busy?" She asked Sherlock, curious to his reasons.

Sherlock just scratched the back of his head with the bow, looking around the room. "Why shouldn't I?" Rose smiled at the predictable answer.

"Oh." Said John, seeing the full picture now. "Nice. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

Rose just kept on smiling, remembering the arguments she had had with her brothers in the past. "Oh, come on, John. We all have siblings here, all dealing with them in different ways, for different reasons." She had learned a lot about her flatmates sibling relations in her time at 221B.

She, of course, simply took to trying to get along with her siblings and when that didn't turn out quite right, she would fight fire with fire, giving just as good as she got in their little arguments.

John would sometimes ignore the calls he got off Harry, but when he did answer them, he usually ended the call in a bad mood, having had to deal with a drunken and depressed sister. Though Rose had found that the good natured doctor rarely fought back with his sister, knowing that it did no good.

Sherlock, who was far from normal by anyone's standards, seemed to be the most regular with his sibling, choosing to challenge and annoy him at every chance, while still caring - though he never showed it to anyone - and being cared for.

The man himself threw a light glare to his doctor friend, snappy retort in mind. However, just as he was about to, voice it, his phone started ringing. He quickly answered it, saying his name to the person on the other end of the line.

John and Rose shared a look as he spoke again. "Of course, how could I refuse?" He hung up the call, putting away the violin. "Rose, get your coat." As she did, he got his, turning to John. "Lestrade - I've been summoned. Coming?"

John looked between them. "If you want me to."

Rose just smirked, pocketing her cigarettes and lighter. "Of course."

Sherlock turned to him, Rose going over to stand by him. "I'd be lost without me blogger." Sherlock said, making both men smile, Rose's smirk grow a little more.

It would seem they had put the little tiff behind them.

The three of them went out into the street, walking past the police tape before hailing a cab, Rose's phone going off as they sat down. Once again, she answered it with out looking at the caller id.

"Hello?"

"Rose, thank god! Are you alright, we saw the news…" It was her uncle Andrew and she smiled at his needless concern.

She cut him off before he started rambling though. "I'm fine, uncle, just a little bruised. Nothing to worry about, really." She said, echoing the words she told John.

"Hmm…Well, at least call your mother. She's worried about you, you know." He said, changing the subject slightly, entering more uncomfortable waters.

Sherlock saw Rose bristle at something her uncle said, replying, "If she's so worried, she can call me herself. Besides, you've heard off me now, I'm sure you can tell her I'm just fine."

"Rose..." She heard him say. But she knew he was about to give her a lecture on how important family was, so she cut him off before he could start.

"I've got to go uncle, or I'll be late for work." She said in a tight voice.

She just heard him sigh in defeat. "Well, you know where I am, okay?"

"I know." She replied, wanting to hang up sooner rather than later.

But he just kept talking. "And Roy and I will be down soon to make sure everything is alright." She took it as a warning more than a comforting reminder.

"I remember. Really though, I've got to go." She said, looking out of the window. "See you soon, bye." With that she hung up before he could reply, knowing he could draw out the conversation for a few more minuets if he wanted to.

As she slipped her phone back into her pocket, she looked to the curious gaze of John, knowing Sherlock was probably listening as well. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry." Assured John. "But you do know we have a good few minuets until we get to the yard, right?"

She just gave John a bright smile. "Oh, I know."

He just chuckled, turning to face the window again.

Walking through the offices, the three flatmates followed Lestrade to his office as he spoke. "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones."

"Obviously." Stated Sherlock, wondering why, after five years of working together, the DI was questioning this.

"You'll love this. That explosion…" Lestrade started, only to get interrupted.

"Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Denied the DI, Rose and John looking to each other while Sherlock frowned slightly.

"No?" The consultant asked as they passed Donavan, who looked up giving them a cold look. They paid no notice.

"No. Made to look like one though." Lestrade told them, going into his office.

"What?" Asked John, not quite understanding.

"Hardly anything left of the place, except for a strong box." Sherlock noticed a letter on the table. It was addressed to him. "A _very _strong box, and inside was this." He said, pointing to the letter.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's addressed to you, isn't it?" Lestrade said obviously. "We've x-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."

"How reassuring." Rose muttered, knowing that the best test to put the envelope under was to give it to the man it was addressed to.

He picked up the letter, starting to examine it before opening it. "Nice stationery." He complemented. "Bohemian." He held it under the light.

"What?" Asked Lestrade.

"From the Czech Republic. No finger prints?" Asked Sherlock, knowing the answer.

"No."

Rose went over to stand next to him, making sure to not get in the light. "Used a fountain pen." She chipped in.

"Yes, she did. Parker Duofold, Meridian nib." Out doing her by far. She didn't mind though - she knew he was better by miles and happily accepted the fact.

"She?" Questioned John, though Rose could see why Sherlock thought it.

"Obviously." Retorted Sherlock, not explaining any further.

"Obviously." Echoed John, looking a little annoyed at the lack of explanation.

Rose turned to him. "Female handwriting, John." She told him, getting a nod in return.

Sherlock took a sharp letter opener off the desk, slicing the envelope carefully, examining every detail of the action, from how the paper tore to how the dust particles came off. Looking inside, his face relaxed from its frowned expression, turning more into the usual one, letting his companions know that he had truly found a puzzle.

Pulling his hand out of the paper folds, John and Rose saw a touch screen phone in a bright pink case.

"That's the phone." John said in shock. "The pink phone."

Rose frowned, she must have missed that bit in the case. Lestrade however remembered it well. "From _A Study In Pink_?" He asked.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone, but its supposed to look like…" Sherlock muttered, before realising who had spoken and what they had said. He turned to look at Lestrade incredulously. "_Study In Pink_, you read his blog?"

"Course I read his blog. We all do!" Said Lestrade obviously. "Do you really not know that the earth goes round the sun?" Donovan snickered in the corner, earning a glare from Rose. She quickly left again.

Sherlock turning his attention back to his work again. "It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like that same phone. Which means you blog has a far wider readership."

John looked down a little in embarrassment, but Sherlock just tapped the phone, making an automated female voice ring out in the office. "You have one new message." Following the voice were five Greenwich time signal pips, causing them all to frown in confusion.

"Ok... What was that about?" Rose asked. Sherlock ignored her though, so John spoke up.

"Is that it?"

"No, that's not it." Sherlock said, searching through the phone, finding a picture. Leaning in to get a better look, Rose's eye flew open at the picture.

"What in hell are we supposed to make of that?" Lestrade asked.

The picture showed a bathroom cabinet, wide open, completely empty, a thick lined drawing in the top right corner. The drawing was of a cobweb, drawn in what looked to be thick black marker pen. On the edge of the picture you could just make out the white paint of the walls.

Sherlock frowned as John spoke. "That could be anywhere!"

"No, it couldn't." Rose said quietly, eyes glued to the picture as three sets of male eyes snapped to hers. "It's my bathroom, that's my cabinet."

"It's yours?" Lestrade asked, a look of suspicion on his face.

She looked up to him and saw the look, giving a defensive huff. "It wasn't _me_, Lestrade. Why would I do this? If I wanted to talk to Sherlock, I could just do so - without blowing up half of my own street." Lestrade ignored the young woman however, looking to Sherlock.

"What's with the pips?" He asked the man, who looked like he had just been given a major clue in the case.

"It's a warning." He told them, gazing off into space.

"A warning?" John asked.

Sherlock turned to him. "Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that - five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again. Come on!" He said, moving towards the door.

"Hang on." John said, him and Rose following close behind him, Lestrade a few feet behind. "What's going to happen again?" Sherlock spoke as he span in a circle, arms miming his single word.

"Boom!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A Silent Game**

**A Silent Find**

As the cab pulled up outside 221B, the four of them went inside, Rose letting them through to her en-suit bathroom. She thanked her mother for getting her into the habit of keeping a clean room, having let the habit spread into anything she did.

As she opened the door to her bedroom, Sherlock let his eyes scan everything, wanting to still find out more about his flatmate. He found that her room was incredibly neat and tidy - almost to the military standard that John kept his room. There were a few books dotted around here and there, pencils and coloured pens littering her bed, the sheets having been made that morning.

She lead them over to the bathroom door, opening it to reveal a white painted room, the cabinet above the sink catching their eyes immediately. There was a yellow post it note on it, an arrow pointing downward, writen in the same blue pen. They found a surprise in the sink waiting for them.

"Those are not mine." Rose said, pointing to the old pair of trainers sitting in her sink.

"Shoes." John said, raising an eyebrow to no one in particular.

Sherlock went to go to the sink, mindful of every detail, but Lestrade's words made him pause.

"He's a bomber remember." Sherlock thought for a moment and carried on, Rose having stepped to the side, sitting on the edge of the bath.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as they all awaited Sherlock's deductions on the possibly very dangerous pair of trainers. So they all jumped - even Sherlock - when a phone rang out loudly in the silence. It wasn't any of theirs however.

It was the pink phone.

Sherlock took it out of his pocket, taking off his right glove before doing so, looking at the number. It was blocked. Taking a steadying breath, he answered the call, keeping it on speaker phone, so they could all hear.

"Hello." He said softly.

On the other end of the line they could all make out the heavy and uneven breathing of the caller, which they soon found out was a woman. _"H-Hello…sexy." _Rose frowned at the words. _Sounds like she's crying, _she thought worriedly.

"Who is this?" Sherlock asked as the woman sobbed. John looked to Lestrade, who just kept watching Sherlock. Rose had her eyes on the floor, focusing completely on the call.

"_I've…sent you…a little puzzle. Just to say hi." _The woman said, though it sounded like she didn't quite know what she was saying.

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?" Sherlock asked, trying to get some answers.

The woman just cried a little harder though_. "I…I'm not crying, I'm typing." _The realisation hit them in a cold wave; a hostage_. "And this…s-s-stupid bitch is reading it out."_

"The curtain rises." Sherlock muttered, Rose's head snapping up at his words.

"What?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock answered quickly, trying to get back on task. John was persistent though, forgetting they were on the phone to a hostage that was probably being held at gunpoint or something of the sort.

"I've been expecting this for some time." Was all Sherlock said.

_Surely not..._Rose thought, remembering the scream of the dying cabbie. John looked like he was about to ask something more, but Rose sent him a hard look, shaking her head. He got the hint.

"_Twelve hours to solve my puzzle, Sherlock…or I'm going to be…so…naughty." _The woman sobbed a little more before the line cut off.

Sherlock pocketed the phone again, sighing slightly. "Rose, we're going to need an evidence bag for these." He said, putting his glove back on.

"On it." She replied, used to his requests by now, happily complying - if only to get out of the slightly claustrophobic room. It was way too small to fit four people in it.

She darted up the stairs, grabbing a spare evidence bag from the kitchen and ran back down to the waiting men, Sherlock with the shoes in his gloved hands. Slipping them into the bag, he sealed it and took it from her.

At Saint Bart's labs, Rose waited patiently by the door while Sherlock snapped on a pair of latex gloves, starting to examine the shoes. John had just gone to find coffee for them, but came back half an hour later to find Sherlock looking through a microscope, Rose sat on a stool at the end of his table, watching closely as the man worked.

"Sorry it took a while; got a bit lost." He said, handing a still warm cup over to Sherlock, who set it on the table, not looking away from his work. "So, who do you think it was?"

"Hm?" Sherlock asked, not really concentrating. His phone beeped, but he ignored it.

"The woman on the phone - the crying woman." John clarified.

"Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage. No lead there." Sherlock said, still not looking up. Rose took note of what he said; it was a bit cruel, yes, but at the same time, it was true. There was no use in wasting time on something that would get them no closer to finding the answer; Sherlock had taught her that.

John didn't seem to follow the same track however. He screwed up his face, shaking his head. "For god's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."

"You're not going to be much use to her." Sherlock said, a slight warning in his voice. He remembered seeing so many police officers and detectives either loose themselves or other people because they cared; it simply wasn't worth it. He made sure Rose understood that soon after they started to work together.

"Are they even trying to trace it - trace the call?" John asked, still worried for the stranger.

Sherlock's phone beeped again. "The bomber's too smart for that." He said to John, then changing who he was talking too, one being nearer than the other. "Rose, pass me my phone."

"If you tell me where it is." She said in reply.

"Jacket." He said, still not looking away.

"You're _wearing _your jacket." She told him, wondering if he really had not noticed.

But it seemed he had. He just couldn't be bothered to move much. "Yes."

She rolled her eyes and got up from her seat, trying to manoeuvre her way through the arms of the unmoving man, reaching into his jacket pocket carefully, taking out his phone. "Here."

"Check it." He told her.

She sighed slightly and John wondered why she bothered doing all the little things she did for the man. "Text, from your brother."

"Delete it."

She was about to when John spoke up. "You haven't even read it, Sherlock." The doctor wasn't about to let Sherlock do something stupid simply to spite Mycroft.

"The missile plans are out of the country by now. Nothing we can do about it." Sherlock answered.

"Well, Mycroft seems to disagree." John retorted.

"He has text you eight times." Rose chipped in, checking the mans messaged for him.

"Must be important." John said, trying to convince the man.

Sherlock just gave him an obvious look. "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" With that he went back to his work again, thinking it was over. Apparently not.

"Dental appointment?" John questioned, frowning slightly.

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk." Sherlock said exasperatedly.

"He texts me…" Rose said lightly, eyebrows slightly raise, eyes scanning the contents of the table.

Sherlock threw her a knowing look, while John just frowned in confusion. "Why…?"

Sherlock cut him off though. "Look, Andrew West stole missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this - why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?"

They were silent for a moment, Rose setting his phone back on the table next to its owner.

"Try and remember there's a woman here who might die." John said in a low voice causing a flash of guilt to run through her. Sherlock had other plans however.

"What for?" He asked, turning back to John, eyes as cold as always. "There's hospitals full of people dying, _doctor_. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

"Sherlock." Reprimanded Rose quietly, remembering that they had argued only the night before. The damage was done however as John looked away from him, before going out the door. He really wanted to hit Sherlock sometimes.

There was a heavy silence in the air, Rose being the one to break it first. "You really should stop annoying him like that, Sherlock."

He just ignored her though, sitting up a little straighter at the sound of the beeping of the computer, the screen flashing something. "Ah!"

Molly came through the doors then, smiling at them both. "Any luck?"

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock replied with a smile.

Just then another man came in having followed molly. "Oh, sorry, I didn't…"

"Jim, hi! Come in! Come in!" As she spoke, Rose caught something, though she didn't know what it was. Looking over to the new man - supposedly called Jim - she looked him over quickly, deciding not to trust him. There was something not right. Sherlock looked up, gaze flickering between Molly and Jim, but Rose didn't see any mistrust in his eyes. Molly started on introductions. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah." He said, walking over to stand by Molly, though his attention was solely on the man working at the desk.

"And, err…Sorry." Molly said, looking over to Rose, pulling an embarrassed face.

Rose just looked Jim in the eyes, still not trusting him. She held out a hand though. "Rose Spencer." She introduced herself, giving him a firm handshake and a tight smile.

"Hi." Her instincts flared and she could have sworn she saw the makings of a smirk, but as soon as she noticed it, it was gone, Jim's attention going back to the man still working. "So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" He moved over to circle round to the other side of Sherlock, rubbing his hands as he went.

"Jim works in IT, upstairs." Molly told them. "That's how we met. Office romance." Rose saw what Molly was trying to do - whether it was consciously or subconsciously she didn't know. Jim chuckled at her.

Sherlock looked at Jim for less than a second before turning back to his work. "Gay."

Molly's smile faded instantly, a note of panic in her voice. "Sorry, what?" Rose was watching Jim though, his eyes seeming to shine a little brighter. She really didn't trust him.

Sherlock then remembered that he had to keep Molly happy if he wanted to keep using the labs. _Damn it, _he thought irritably. "Nothing. Um, hey." He made up on the spot.

"Hey," Replied Jim, knocking over a metal dish as he moved his hands again. "Sorry. Sorry!" He apologised, bending down to pick it up again. Chuckling in a forced fashion, he moved over to Molly again. "I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox. About six-ish?"

Molly brightened again, nodding to him. "Yeah."

"Bye." Jim said, looking at Sherlock rather than Molly.

"Bye." Molly replied, but soon caught on to his behaviour.

"It was nice to meet you." Jim carried on, still looking at Sherlock, who gave no reply, and no intention of doing so.

Rose looked between them, feeling a little protective of her friend. She gave Jim a hard stare again as she spoke for the both of them. "You too."

Jim gave her a look that was meant to look jealous, however there was a dark spark of life in his eyes that chilled her. Feeling a sense of foreboding, she watched carefully as Jim left the room.

Molly soon spoke up. "What so you mean, gay? We're together."

Sherlock looked up to her. "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

Molly just looked defensive, trying to stay strong. "Two and a half."

"No, three." He said, correcting her correction.

Rose saw the look on her face and though she didn't trust him, Molly did and she seemed quite happy with him. "Sherlock." She warned quietly, the action becoming somewhat of a habit.

"He's not gay!" Molly said loudly, starting to loose it before she caught herself. "Why do you have to spoil…? He's not!"

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock argued.

This was one explanation Rose did not understand however. "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?" She questioned. "John puts product in his hair." And they all knew John was most definitely not gay.

Sherlock looked over to her, raising an eyebrow. "John washes his hair, there's a difference." He shook his head, counting off his deductions with indications with his hands. "No, no - tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired, clubber's eyes." He looked towards Molly for the last one. "Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" Molly asked, both women wondering how he noticed the other mans underwear.

Sherlock nodded. "Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand." He turned to retrieve the paper under the dish that had been sent sailing to the floor. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here." He showed Molly the paper, turning back to her. "I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Molly looked between Sherlock and Rose, one looking as though they just helped tremendously, the other looking torn between hitting the man and nodding in agreement. In the end Molly just turned and ran out the door, heading to her office to sort things out in her head.

Sherlock just sat there looking quite confused at the woman's reaction. Hearing a loud sigh, he turned to Rose. She was looking at him as though he had done something wrong, but there was a silent agreement in her eyes. "Charming, Sherlock. Well done." She told him sarcastically.

He frowned. "Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?"

Rose just sighed and went back to her seat, folding her arms slightly. "No, Sherlock." She sounded defeated, having accepted that it would be her to teach the man yet another lesson in social norms. "That wasn't kind, though I'm still glad you did it." She gave him a small smile to his confused expression.

He just sighed, once again not understanding the woman. Deciding to change the subject, he pushed a shoe over to her. "Go on, then."

She looked at the object suspiciously, then looked up to Sherlock, an eyebrow raised in question.

He just sat back, crossing his arms. "You know what I do. Off you go."

_He wanted her to…_She didn't even know what to call what the madman did, but she was sure she couldn't do it - at least not yet. "So you can humiliate me?" She asked, though she knew she would do it anyway.

"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me." He told her. She just snorted in disbelief. He saw she didn't believe him and caught her eyes, holding her gaze. "Really!" Their gazes held for a few seconds more before she gave in.

"Fine!" She picked up the shoe, concentrating on the every little detail. She spoke as she worked, turning the object around in her hands. "They are a pair of trainers." She started off slowly, then started to build a little more confidence in her deductions. "They're very clean. I'd say new but the sole has been worn down quite a bit, so the owner wore them a lot, and even then they'd have to be quite old. So the owner really liked them; kept them clean, wore them a lot. Looks like a retro design."

"Good. What else?" He encouraged her, taking out his phone. She knew he was still listening though.

"Well, from the size and design, I'd say more likely that the owner was male, but not many mature men would wear something like this, more likely choosing a pair of shoes or just plain trainers over something like this." She told him.

"And…" He said, wanting a bit more from her.

"And…" She checked the other shoe quickly, finding something on the inside of the material. "…there's traces of a name inside. Felt tip marker, but its been smudged. Teens are much more likely to write their names on their belongings so they don't get nicked. So the owner was a male in his late teens, going by the size of the things. The bomber probably smudged the name so we had less to go on." She placed the trainer down on the table again, looking back to Sherlock.

"Anything else?" He asked.

"I'm sure there is, but I'm no Holmes." She told him, getting a half smile from him. "So, how bad did I do?"

"No, you did well, Rose. Really well. I mean you missed almost everything of importance, but, you know…" She smirked at his words, placing a trainer into his outstretched hand, waiting to see how the professional did it. She wasn't disappointed.

"The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean. Whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three…no, four times. Even so, there are tiny traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. The shoes are well worn, more so on the inner side, which means the owner had weak arches. British made, twenty years old." He concluded, picking up his phone.

"Twenty years?" She asked, wondering how he got to that conclusion.

"They're not retro, they're original. Limited edition - two stripes, 1989." He showed her the phone's screen. It showed a brand new pair of trainers, almost identical to the ones they had as evidence, if not for the hazards of time.

"There's still mud on them though, and they look new." She pointed out.

"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex with London mud overlaying it." He told her.

She glanced at the screen, recognising some of the images. "Pollen?"

He smirked slightly. "Clear as a map reference to me. South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind." He frowned at the end.

"But if he loved them, he wouldn't just forget them, leave them behind by accident." Rose said, frowning as well. "So, what happened to him?"

Sherlock sighed, looking from the trainers to her and back several times. "Something bad. He wouldn't have left them filthy either. Wouldn't let them go unless he had to. So, teenager with big feet gets…" He trailed off and Rose knew he had remembered something. "Oh!"

"What is it?" She asked.

"Carl Powers." He whispered , whether in reply or simply voicing his thoughts she didn't know.

"Who's that?"

"Carl Powers, Rose." He said, the name sounding less like a name, and more like a code word for something.

"What is it, Sherlock?" She asked, seeing that he was more than just confused or shocked.

"It's where I began." He said simply making her eyes widen a fraction.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Silent Game**

**The Answering Silence**

Sitting in the back of the cab, Sherlock turned to Rose. "1989, young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sport tournament, drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn't remember it; even if you did hear about it." He showed her his phone, the screen showing a news article. "Might be before your time." He told her, thinking he was still too young to say such a phrase.

"But you remember it." She stated, knowing the answer.

"Yes." He took his phone back.

"Something a bit off about it?"

"Nobody thought so." He said, mind half in the past. "Nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

She tried to picture a younger Sherlock Holmes, only coming up with the idea of a very small child with dark curls, running around crazily, wreaking havoc in his bid to understand the world. She couldn't imagine the man having had a childhood. She frowned. "Started young, didn't you?"

He ignored the question though. "The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out, it was too late. There was something wrong somewhere. I couldn't get it out of my head."

Rose thought back to Jim and just how wrong he seemed to be. She couldn't get the _wrongness_ out of her mind either, simply putting it to the side for later. She could understand where Sherlock was coming from. "What was it?"

Sherlock turned to her after having looked outside the back window, restless in his movements, unable to stay still for very long. "His shoes."

She just frowned a little more in confusion. "What about them?"

"They weren't there." Sherlock sighed, looking a little defeated. "I made a fuss. Tried to get someone to listen, to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important." He paused for a moment. "He'd left all of the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes."

Sherlock picked up the plastic evidence bag, looking at the shoes again. Rose watched him, muttering, "Until now."

John slid the kitchen door open, poking his head in. He saw Sherlock looking at several news articles, as well as various other papers. Rose was sat next to him doing the same. "Can I help?" He was really starting to worry now, not liking having a persons life on the line should they fail. "I want to help. There's only five hours left." He slipped his hand into his pocket as his phone beeped, distracting him momentarily.

_Any developments? MH_

John looked to the man, lifting his phone up slightly. "It's your brother." He told him. "He's texting _me _now. How did he even know my number?" The ex-army doctor was a little puzzled at this, and a little more unnerved.

"Just go with it, John." Rose suggested, smiling slightly at the confused doctor.

"Must be a root canal." Sherlock muttered, ignoring her words.

John slipped into the kitchen after pocketing his phone again. "Look, he did say _national importance_."

Sherlock found himself oddly amused. "Hm! How quaint!"

"What is?" Asked John, not knowing what Sherlock was talking about.

"You are. Queen and Country." Sherlock paid no mind for such things, they barely affected him after all.

Rose knew that John would take his words to be an unintended insult and said, "Sherlock…" in a quiet, warning voice. It was definitely a habit of hers now to give the Consulting Detective a bit of a warning when he went a little too far with something and needed to be pushed back - not that he listened to her most of the time anyway.

"You can't just ignore it." John said in a hard voice, ignoring Sherlock's comments.

"I'm not ignoring it." Retorted the man, still not looking up. "I'm putting my best worker on it right now."

"Good." Said John, huffing slightly and crossing his arms.

Rose however became immediately suspicious. "And who would that be, pray tell."

Ten minuets later, John sat at the table - having taken Rose's seat - with a cup of tea in hand, turning to pick up where his female flatmate left off. She had left the flat a few minuets before hand, quickly catching a cab to the office of Mycroft Holmes.

"Why did you send Rose to deal with Mycroft?" He asked after a minute.

Sherlock didn't look up as he answered, but John still heard the humour in his voice. "I work better when working with you and she works better when she knows what she's doing. Besides, I'm sure she will have far more fun there than she will here."

John frowned, not missing the insinuation, but not wanting to jump to conclusions at the same time. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

Sherlock just looked up, mischief in his eyes. "They have a little game going, it seems."

John just chuckled, shaking his head at his friends actions, hoping she knew what she was getting herself into.

Rose sat in the obviously expensive and professional office, at least feeling that she looked the part.

Before leaving the flat she had decided to change her outfit. She was now sat in a very comfy chair, wearing one of her two low cut, black work shirts, a pair of soft, black trousers and a pair of shiny, black ankle boots, giving her another four inches to her height. Her brown hair was tied back so that it fell thickly down her back and her coat was over the back of the chair she sat on, a plain black handbag sitting next to her, leaning against the chair leg.

Letting out a small breath, she decided that she had missed wearing nice clothes, having gotten used to wearing casual jeans and t-shirts for the past year or two. She knew she was going to have to get some form of uniform for when she was working - which was likely to be most days - and now she knew what she was going to look for. She could even get some of the shirts in some different colours, maybe green or blue. She may even be adventurous and find a dark red one.

She was pulled out of her thoughts of shopping and clothes by a door opening.

"Miss Spencer, how nice!" Mycroft said, walking through the door, heading towards his desk, looking at some papers in his hands. "I was hoping it wouldn't be long. How can I help you?"

She slipped a note pad and a pen out of her bag, resting the pad of paper on her right knee as she folded it over her left. "Well, as much as I would love for this to be a social call, Mr Holmes, Sherlock sent me to get some more facts about the stolen missile plans." She told him confidently, the ghost of a smirk on her lips.

Mycroft turned to face her as he heard her words. He saw she was dressed smartly, yet still somehow distracting him just that little bit. He smirked slightly. "Did he?" He asked in a low tone of voice.

"Yes, he did." She replied, mimicking his tone. Mycroft turned and leaned against his desk, rubbing his mouth slightly as he did so. She turned her tone lighter again, leaning back in her chair slightly, pen in hand, ready to take notes. "I was just wondering what else you could tell me about the dead man."

Mycroft took in a deep breath of air, thinking over all the information he had read about the man. Crossing his arms, he relayed it back to her. "27 years old. Clerk at Vauxhall Cross. MI6" He smiled as she took the notes quickly, trying - and succeeding - to keep up with the man. "He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Program in a minor capacity. Security checks a-okay. No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening."

"He was found at Battersea, right? So, he got on the train…" She trailed off, thinking CCTV somewhere must have picked him up.

"No." Replied Mycroft, making her frown slightly.

"What?" _That doesn't make sense…_

"He had an oyster card…" Explained the man, rubbing the side of his mouth again. _Ten points to the Consulting Detective_, she thought absently as he carried on talking. "…but it hadn't been used."

"He must have bought a ticket then." She argued, still not understanding how the man got to where he was found.

"There was no ticket on the body." Mycroft retorted, only confusing her more.

"Then..." She couldn't see how he got there. _Good place to start then_, she thought.

"Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea?" He continued cheerfully. "That is the question. One I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide the answer to." He turned serious then. "How's he getting on?"

She heard the seriousness in his voice, but also caught the underlying concern for his little brother that Mycroft held. It made her smile slightly, reminding her of her own brothers. "He's fine. Working as hard as always. I'm sure the case will be solved in no time." She said, confidence still running in her voice, even though she knew Sherlock wasn't focused on this particular case at all. She slipped the cover over the note book again, slipping both it and her pen into her bag again.

Mycroft watched her carefully as she picked up her bag, folding her coat over an arm. He was looking out for her next move in their little game they had going. "I will see you soon then, my dear. Do keep me updated on the progress of the case."

"Of course." She said, but as she did, a flash of pain shot through his damned tooth again. He winced as he tried to suppress it. She caught his movement though.

"Aww…" She said quietly, a look of sympathy on her face. It was practically mocking. Before he had a chance to give some sort of retort however, she approached him. He became very aware of his slightly elevated heart rate as she placed a hand on his chest, thumb skimming the material of his suit slightly as she moved it back and forth.

Seeing his eyes widen slightly, she inwardly smiled at her sudden idea. She leaned in closely, placing a feather light kiss on his cheek, right over where he had been rubbing his mouth in pain earlier. As she pulled back, she smiled, not needing to be a mind reader to know that he was more than a little surprised at her boldness. _Hides it well though, _she admitted, still seeing the emotion in his eyes.

"I do hope your tooth gets better soon, Mr Holmes." She said with a smug smile.

He just gave her a smirk in return. "You need not concern yourself, my dear."

She flashed him a smirk before turning her back to him, heading out of the door. Before she left, however, she called back to him, not bothering to turn around. "Until next time, Mr Holmes."

As the door closed with a small noise, Mycroft chuckled slightly, shaking his head and moving to sit at his desk. He knew it was illogical and made no sense at all, but his tooth actually felt a little better than before. His mind once again drifted to the young woman, and he started to wonder if he was enjoying their little game a little _too_ much.

As she walked into the living room of 221B, she checked her phone for the time, seeing that they only had a few hours left. She frowned, pushing aside the worry again, finding it a little harder to do this time. She just managed though, shaking herself of the negative and practically useless emotion.

"Poison!" Came a shout from the kitchen, followed by a loud bang.

She frowned, hearing it was Sherlock. "Sherlock ,what are you shouting about now?" She asked as she walked into the kitchen, not bothering to take off her heels.

"Clostridium Botulinum." He turned to her, looking to John next who was sat at the table, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet." He got only confused looks from them. "Carl Powers." He insisted, not really explaining properly.

Rose did what she could though. "Are you saying he was murdered?"

He got up, going over to a line of string which had the shoes - having been taken apart - pegged up carefully. She followed him as he talked. "Remember the shoe laces?" She hummed in agreement. "The boy suffered from eczema. It would be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication." He moved around the table, passing John and going to stand in front of his laptop. "Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

John though for a moment though. "How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it." Sherlock said, before turning to his laptop and typing something into his website. "There's still tiny traces of it left inside the inside of the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet." He pressed enter and stood up straight again. "That's why they had to go."

"So, how do we let the bomber know?" John asked, thinking about the hostage again.

"Get his attention. Stop the clock." Sherlock said, indicating to the laptop. Rose frowned and went to read what he had typed.

_FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978 - 1989)._

_Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St._

"The killer kept the shoes all these years…" She muttered, mind racing as the pieces of the puzzle came together.

"Yes." Sherlock said lowly, thinking along the same track.

"But that means-" John started, Sherlock cutting him off.

"He's our bomber." Sherlock's hand flew to answer the pink cased phone on the side as it rang out, Rose and John unknowingly holding their breath.

Again they heard the sobbing woman on the other end of the line before she spoke. "_Well d-d-done you. Come and get me." _Her voice steadied out a little at the end, sounding surprised that she could say such a thing.

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked. "Tell us where you are."

Ten minuets later, the three of them were sat in the living room, each with their respective hot beverages in hand, each in their respective places of comfort, Rose with added cigarette in hand. They had sent the police to retrieve the woman, they would deal with her now.

Flicking ash into a tray, Rose spoke up. "So, what now?"

"Now we wait." Sherlock answered. "The bomber's bound to call again."

"Right…" She replied. A few minutes later, she had finished her drink and her cigarette and stood up, taking her bag with her, thinking she could look over the notes of the West case before she turned in for the night. "I'll see you both in the morning then."

"Make sure to get up early enough to go to the yard. We need to speak with Lestrade." Sherlock told her, not looking up from where ever he was staring off to.

"Alright." She said, thinking that sleep would be a much better plan now. "G'night guys."

"Night." John called as she turned away, mind already getting ready for a heavy session of slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Silent Game**

**A Silence Too Close To Home**

Sitting in Lestrade's office the next morning, they were all thinking about the previous day's events. Rose had decided that she liked wearing the formal work clothes and had decided to wear her other one today, a clean pair of black trousers to go with it, along with her ankle boot heels. She decided that it would be what she wore for working with Sherlock from now on and she would have to pick up some more shirts soon, perhaps in a few different colours.

John sat in the chair next to her, Lestrade sitting behind his desk and Sherlock facing the glass wall of the office, his hands pulled up to his face, palm to palm, fingers twitching every few seconds.

"She lives in Cornwall." Lestrade was saying. "Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house."

"Jesus…" Whispered Rose as she heard the story, Sherlock going to stand behind John as she did so.

"They told her to phone you." Lestrade said, looking towards Sherlock. He handed Rose the devise. "Check the read out from this - pager."

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would sent her off." Sherlock said, still walking around the room, heading back to the glass wall.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case." John chipped in.

"Oh…Elegant!" Complemented Sherlock, confusing the others.

Rose frowned though, looking to the man. "Elegant?" She couldn't find any angle that could be considered _elegant _with this case.

Lestrade had a better question though. "What was the point? Why would anyone do this?"

Sherlock had an answer for this one it seemed. "Oh… I can't be the only person in the world who gets bored." Rose sighed at this, knowing he was right, but still not liking the answer.

The pink phone beeped just then, drawing all eyes to Sherlock as he was hiding the screen form their line of sight. "You have one new message." They heard, followed by the same pips as before, just one less.

"Four pips now?" Rose asked.

"First test passed, it would seem." Answered Sherlock. "Here's the second."

He showed them the picture that was now filling the screen, showing a car with a licence plate and the doors open.

"Looks abandoned, wouldn't you say?" Asked Sherlock rhetorically as Lestrade took the pink devise.

"I'll see if it's been reported." Muttered the DI, going to do just that, leaving the three of them in the glass room.

The door opened, revealing Sally Donovan with a cordless phone in her hand. "Freak, it's for you." She said.

Rose frowned at the nickname, watching as Sherlock took the phone and went out into the offices. He was unaware of Rose following him out of the room.

"Hello?" Sherlock asked, suspicions swimming in his head.

"_Its okay that you've gone to the police." _Rose could heard the muffled words through the strangely loud phone, even though it wasn't on loud speaker. What she heard made her heart race, her breath hitch and her blood run cold, all at once.

Sherlock turned to see her pale face, noting the way her right hand was tugging at her wrist, as though trying to find something that wasn't there. "Who is this?" He asked. "Is this you again?"

A shaky voice answered and Rose felt her eyes well up at the voice. _"But don't reply on them_." Sherlock had a good idea how he was now speaking to on the other end of the line. _Welsh accent, voice similar to Zach's, trying to hold back emotion_; he had a very good idea of who the man might be.

Acting quickly, he gave a quick knock on the glass, causing John to look up. Sherlock flicked his gaze to Rose who was slowly inching forward towards him.

John looked up at the sharp tap and saw Sherlock indicate to Rose. The doctor knew immediately that something was wrong and shot out of his seat, running out of the room just as Rose took a step forward. _Get her out of here_, Sherlock mouthed, chin motioning to the exit. John threw him a confused look, while Rose took another step forward.

Sherlock saw that time was running out before she made a grab for the devise in his hands and he couldn't let her do it; she could compromise the entire case if she did, putting several lives in serious danger. Covering the mouth piece of the phone, he hissed to John, _"Now!"_

The sharp noise broke Rose out of her fear induced state and she made a wild dash for the phone. John caught her just in time, fighting to get her out of the door they were nearest to, trying to get her into the hall way.

Sherlock turned his back to his friends reluctantly, trying to concentrate on the bomber that wouldn't wait for them_. "Clever you. Guessing about Carl Powers."_ The man shakily continued_. "I never liked him. Carl laughed at me so I stopped him laughing."_

"You've stolen another voice, I presume." Sherlock deduced.

"_This is about you and me." _The voice replied. But that wasn't the only thing the Consulting Detective heard.

"Who are you? What's that noise?"

"_It's the sound of life, Sherlock. But don't worry…" _The man started to sob. _"I can soon fix that." _The man collected himself it seemed, his voice a little steadier. _"You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight." _The call ended then, leaving Sherlock stood completely still, trying to process all that happened, could happen, and would defiantly happen; both with the bomber and his friends.

John wrestled his frantic friend out into the deserted corridor, but she tried to get back into the room. He held steady though, trusting Sherlock knew what he was doing. He pushed her against the wall, pulling her arms around her back. All the while she was murmuring cries of "No" or "Please." Sometimes both.

It broke John's heart to see the strong woman so broken and upset.

"Calm down, Rose." John tried to say in a soothing tone, but she only tried harder to push him off. "I don't want to hurt you, just calm down!" He said a little more forcefully.

As she felt the pressure on her arms get a little more forceful, she stopped to think for a moment. _Fighting John will get you nowhere_, she thought, a panicky tone even in the voice of her mind. _But what do I do now? _So she chose to do what she always did when she was in any sort of trouble or had any sort of problem; she made a plan.

John noticed that she was slowly relaxing, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself. "You alright?" He asked, knowing it was a stupid question but he didn't know what else to say. She nodded. "Okay. I'm going to let you go now, alright?" Rose just nodded again; she didn't trust her voice.

As he let her arms go, still wary of her making a dash to the phone again, he watched her closely. She rolled her shoulders again, rubbing her neck slightly.

As she rubbed her neck, she saw him relax slightly, seeing she wasn't going to make a run for the door again. He was standing slightly between her and the door to the offices anyway, so he would catch her if she tried. But that wasn't where she was going.

She counted to three in her head and then bolted, not for the door to the offices, but to the exit, heading out into the street. She silently thanked Sherlock for having her run about so much, allowing her to run a little faster than she used to be able to go. Pushing open the doors, she heard John's breathless shout of her name. She paid no attention, running out of the building and down the street, thinking about what turns to take to occupy her emotionally wrecked mind.

It wasn't enough though and she soon found herself throwing up into a nearby shrub at the thought of what was happening.

At the thought of the bomber holding Joe hostage.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Silent Game**

**A Silent Motivator**

Sid paused the film they were watching - for the third time, it was one of their favourites - as he heard the door bell go. He figured that since she was already up, his fiancée could answer it.

"Love! Door's ringing!" He shouted through to the kitchen to her, his welsh accent strong.

"Then answer it!" She replied, pouring the hot water into the two cups. The bell rang again, a little longer this time.

"Eth!" He called in a slightly whiny voice that always seemed to make her smile.

It worked and she just smiled at the childish sound, putting the kettle back on its stand and going to answer the door. Opening it she found the shaking form of her best friend.

Rose looked up to meet Ethel with watery eyes. "Can I come in?" She whispered. Ethel just nodded, frowning, ushering the young woman inside.

"Sid!" He heard her Ethel call to him, all humour in her tone vanishing, replaced with a new sense of urgency and worry. "Get a large mug of water, will you?"

"_Oh, Christ..." _He muttered, scrambling to the kitchen to get the drink. He only knew of one person who would come to them and ask for water; and it was never for a good reason.

Taking the drink to the living room, he saw his love with her arm around Rose Spencer, who was shivering worse than he had ever seen her, hands shaking violently. He gave her the mug, the young woman taking a calming breath in a bid to get her hands to stop shaking so much. It worked to some extent, allowing her to hold the mug enough to take a sip from, the action helping to calm her down some more.

"Jesus, Rose…" He whispered, sitting in the chair opposite her. "What happened?"

John sighed, watching as his younger friend bolted around a corner, vanishing from sight. He wasn't as fast as her, even if he thought he should follow her. Turning back to head back to his other friend, he hoped she would be alright; he didn't even know what was wrong.

John met Sherlock again, both men frowning as they saw Lestrade come out of his office. "Got it!" The DI told them, walking towards his car.

John saw that Sherlock didn't move. "Sherlock?" He asked, wondering what could have happened.

The man blinked and followed quickly after Lestrade, not looking John in the eye. He knew what was happening, knew it was no different from the last time. _But it is different, _a small voice whispered in his vast mind.

Sitting in the back of the cab, on their way to the abandoned car, Sherlock couldn't quite shake the thought of what he might do in her shoes; if it was Mycroft strapped to what was most likely a bomb. He couldn't even imagine it, it was so improbable. He still couldn't shake the worry though.

John carefully kept an eye on his friend. He didn't know what had happened, but did trust that if either of them needed him, they would ask for the help. He still worried though, not knowing where Rose was or when she would be coming back.

Ethel pulled up her chin, looking her dead in the eye as Rose hugged herself, tears streaming down her face once more. "Well, you know what to do then, don't you?"

"What?" Rose whispered desperately. She didn't know what to do, and if Ethel had the answer she wanted it.

"You go back to this Sherlock Holmes guy, and you help him solve the case in time. He may be as brilliant as you say, but he could always use your help. Other wise he wouldn't have hired you, know would he?" She said, voice firm but gentle.

Rose blinked for a second, realising what was really happening; Joe needed her help, and she was sat on a sofa crying, sipping a drink. _What am I doing here?_ She thought, angry that she let her emotions waste her time. She stood up suddenly, putting the mug on the table beside her.

She gave Ethel a fierce hug. "You're right. Of course you are! I've got to go!" She said, releasing her friend, quickly giving Sid a handshake as always; he used to take the mick out of her unusually firm handshake.

"I hope everything works out." He said seriously. He had met Joe once or twice before and though he was always a laid back guy, annoying people all the time, Sid knew he did care for the youngest of the three siblings.

She swallowed her fears and worries, pushing her shoulders back and standing to her full height. "It will." She told him confidently before taking out her phone. "I'll see you both later. Thank you!" She called, heading for the door, head down to the phone. It was time she went back to work.

"Fishing." Sally shouted as they went past. "Try fishing."

John just gave her a look, turning back to Sherlock, who's phone had just buzzed. "Where now?"

Sherlock looked at his phone, a small smile pulling at his lips; both at the message and what it meant.

_Apologies for earlier._

_Where are we? RS_

She was coming back to work on the case. And she had picked up one of his texting habits. He quickly typed a reply for her to meet them at the next location.

"Sherlock?" Johns voice brought him back to the situation, reminding him that his friend had asked him a question.

"Janus Cars." He answered, slipping his phone away again. He handed the card he had found to John as they walked. "Just found this in the glove compartment."

Rose checked her phone for third time as she got out of the cab; it had been almost two hours already. She cursed herself again for her wasted time, lighting up a cigarette as she waited impatiently for her flatmates.

Following Sherlock out of the cab, John saw Rose stubbing out a cigarette with the tip of her shoe, looking up to them. Sherlock saw the thin line of red around her eyes and the remnants of tear tracks on her face.

"You alright?" John asked worriedly, wondering how she knew to go there.

Rose ignored him though, turning to Sherlock, searching his cold eyes. "How long is left?" She asked quietly.

"Six hours." He replied just as quietly.

The men watched as she closed her eyes momentarily, letting a deep breath out of her nose as ground her teeth in agitation. She held her head high though, stretching her neck from side to side, eyes falling back to her two friends.

"Let's get a move on then, shall we?"


	9. Chapter 9

**The Silent Game**

**Leaning On A Silent Friend**

John kept an eye on Rose the whole time as they walked in the building; and it was starting to bug her a little. He thought she hadn't noticed, but she had done so as soon as he started. Meanwhile, Sherlock just didn't care at that moment, preferring to be more focused on the car man in front of them.

"I can't really see how I can help you, I'm afraid." He was saying.

"Mr Monkford hired the car form you yesterday." John tried to confirm, glancing away from his friend, to the man behind the desk. He found he could keep both in sight however as Rose moved around slowly, going to stand just next to the man.

"Yeah, lovely motor." The man said. "Mazda RX8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself."

Rose cocked her head to the side slightly, eyes a little wider than usual. She pointed to a picture of a car on the wall behind the man at the desk. In an innocent voice she asked, "Is that one?" John frowned slightly at her behaviour; she was up to something, he just knew it. Sherlock smiled inwardly as he turned to watch them.

The man turned to look at the picture, Rose glancing at his neck as he did so. _Bingo, _she thought, seeing his tan line. The man didn't notice her though, chuckling slightly. "No, they're all Jags." He turned back to her, giving her a little bit of a cheeky smirk. "Not a car person are you?" She just tilted her head, shrugging her shoulders in reply.

"But surely you afford one - a Mazda, I mean." Stated Sherlock as she went to stand behind John, much to the man's annoyance.

"Yeah, that's a fair point." The man allowed. "But you know how it is. It's like working in a sweet shop. Once you start picking up the Liquorice Allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?" He said, scratching his arm slightly.

"But you didn't know Mr Monkford." John said, trying to keep the questioning reasonably normal and steady, despite his friends' efforts.

The man was clueless to what was happening though. "No, he was just a client. He came in here and hired one of my cars. I've no idea what happened to him. Poor sod!" Rose could have seen through the lie even without her self taught skills.

"Nice holiday, Mr Ewart?" Rose asked, getting a ghost of a smile from Sherlock. He knew what she was doing and he let her take the lead this time; he felt she needed both the experience and the distraction.

The man at the table was confused though. "Eh?"

"Been away, haven't you?" Rose asked, frowning a little for effect.

"Oh, the.." He said, motioning to his face. "No, it's the sun beds, I'm afraid. Yeah, too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though - bit of sun." He had steered the conversation away from his tan - and tan lines - looking to John, seeing he was the least likely to call him out on it.

Rose smiled politely at the man. "I think we're done here then." She said, John putting away his notes and heading for the door, Sherlock waiting for her to leave, holding the door for her. He was a little disappointed that she hadn't finished the job, but he guessed he couldn't have everything.

As she passed the door though - Sherlock seconds away from speaking up - she poked her head back in. "Sorry…." She said, looking a little embarrassed. "You haven't got any change for the cigarette machine have you? I'm all out and dying for one." She explained with a small but sheepish smile.

The man flashed her a smile, pulling out his wallet. He frowned slightly when looking through it though. "No, sorry." He looked up apologetically.

She just gave him a small smile. "Ah, well!" With that she went out the door again.

Sherlock smiled slightly; _maybe I can have everything after all. _"Thank you very much for your time, Mr Ewart. You've been very helpful."

Walking through the workshop of cars, Sherlock followed John and Rose as they talked, heading for the door.

"I've got some change if you still want-" She cut him off though.

"Got my own thanks, John." She said, pulling out her cigarettes and a lighter, taking one out of it's little box. Both men inwardly frowned at this, sharing the same thought; _she must be really stressed. _Though it was Sherlock who added, _hiding it well, though, the cigarettes practically the only sign, _to his thoughts.

John frowned. "So, what was all that about?"

"I needed to see inside his wallet." Rose said, pushing open the door and lighting up, now standing in the cold air.

"Why?"

She closed her eyes for a second, letting out a large amount of smoke. "Mr Ewart's a liar." She told them, getting the predicted response from Sherlock.

"Of, course."

Rose sat where she was several hours ago, silent and contemplative as she could be. Sherlock was working at his station, John sitting at the next table, still thinking about what could have upset Rose so much, shooting her a look every few seconds or so.

After half an hour of sitting in silence, she thought her head would explode with the pressure that was pushing behind her eyes; she had started to develop a killer headache.

"You alright?" John asked as she pulled on her coat, looking to the floor again.

"Yeah." She sighed, doing up a couple of buttons and burying her hands in her pockets, heading to the door. "Just going for some fresh air." They all knew what she meant by _fresh air_.

John was really starting to seriously worry though; that was her fourth cigarette she had had since they had met up again, having had one when they got to Bart's. "I'll keep you company." She didn't argue with him, simply holding the door for him, not looking him in the eye.

She had felt guilty ever since she had gotten a grip on herself while being pinned against the wall at the Yard. She knew she may not be the best fighter, but she was certainly not an easy person to take down. She hoped she hadn't hurt him in any way; she would never forgive herself if she had.

Thirty seconds after getting outside, leaning against the wall and lighting up, Rose had had enough of feeling guilty. "I'm sorry, John." She said in a low voice, eyes on the floor still.

John just frowned in confusion. _What on earth could she be sorry for? _"Why?"

"I hope I didn't hurt you…you know, before." She said, swallowing slightly. But he just chuckled slightly, shaking his head. She looked up at the sound. "What?"

"Rose, I was a soldier and a doctor; I know how to handle a myself in a tricky situation. Whether it be in a fight, treating a wriggling patient, or stopping a young woman do something she would probably regret later." He finished softly, looking her in the eye.

She sighed, knowing she would have to tell him sooner or later. She pulled on her cigarette first though, drawing some strength from the burning stick. "He has my brother, John." She said, trying to be strong, but it ended up in a broken whisper that she could barely get out. She quickly took another pull on her cigarette.

John just blinked. It all made sense now.

Rose tried to fight back the tears again, but felt them spill over as two strong arms encased her in their embrace. She hugged him back, holding on for all she was worth, tears streaming down her face once more. She let out a single quiet sob as she heard the three words leave his mouth with such strength, she couldn't help but draw on it.

"Not for long."


	10. Chapter 10

**A Silent Game**

**Silent Reunion**

Wiping her eyes, she stubbed out her cigarette, and smiled at John, embarrassed at her crying. Before she could say anything though, he put a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eye.

"Hey," He said softly, making her look up to him. "Don't worry about it. Any of it, alright? We'll get him back. I promise you." He told her fiercely.

She felt a small stab to her chest though as a small voice of doubt whispered in her ear, _don't make promises you can't keep_. She knew that they couldn't save everyone, but it was _Joe_. They had to save Joe. She couldn't seem to find the words though, or any words for that matter. So she just nodded, turning to go back to the lab again. Just as they walked in however, the pink phone started to ring again.

As Sherlock picked it up, not acknowledging their re-entering the room, Rose put her hands behind her stiff back, one hand holding the other. John saw this, knowing she was trying to restrain herself from doing something she may regret later, having taken his words to heart. He moved over to her, placing a comforting arm around her back, rubbing her arm, his other hand resting heavily on her shoulder. They both knew it was as much a restraint as a comfort, and Rose was grateful for it.

Sliding the lock on the phone, Sherlock answered the call for them all to hear. "Hello?"

Joe's shaky voice came through the speaker as he answered, Rose turning her face away from the sound, biting her tongue with her sharp teeth to prevent her from calling out to him. _"The clue's in the name - Janus Cars."_

Sherlock became very suspicious though. "Why would you be giving me a clue?"

"_Why does anyone do anything? Because I'm bored." _He was starting to sound a little more freaked out by this stage. _"We were made for each other, Sherlock."_

"Then talk to me in your own voice." Sherlock retorted.

"_Patience." _Was the answer he got before the call cut off again. Sherlock put the phone down, picking up a small Petri dish instead, smiling at the contents. Rose - now having sat down, unable to stand anymore on her wobbly legs - hoped it meant that it was a good thing that he was smiling. Though with Sherlock, she could never be sure.

They too a cab back to the yard, John explaining what she had missed when they went to check out the crime scene, Sherlock texting Lestrade to meet them at the storage of the car.

"How much blood would say is on that seat, would you say?" Sherlock asked the DI. Rose listened, mind in puzzle mode, looking for any sort of distraction.

"About a pint, I'd say." The DI replied. Rose looked through one of the windows to get a better look, finding that he was probably right.

"Not about. _Exactly _a pint." Corrected Sherlock. "That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen."

"Frozen?" Rose asked, confused by why someone would want to freeze blood. _Someone other than Sherlock, _she thought after a moment, not really knowing the man's limitations when it came to his experiments.

"There are clear signs." He told her. "I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seat."

"Who did?" The DI asked, not really keeping up.

"Janus Cars." Sherlock answered.

Rose understood suddenly. "The clue's in the name."

"The god with two faces?" Asked John.

"Exactly." Said Sherlock, glancing at John before turning to Lestrade again. "They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of problem - money troubles, bad marriage, whatever - Janus Cars will help you disappear."

"Ian Monkford was swimming in trouble, probably financial, couldn't see a way out." Rose caught on, explaining it all out.

"But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the drivers seat…" Sherlock carried on, trailing off at the end.

"So where is he?" Asked John, looking to Sherlock for an answer.

Sherlock however had other ideas. "Rose?"

She smiled slightly at knowing the answer to the question. "Columbia."

"Colombia?" Lestrade asked, looking from Rose to Sherlock, not seeing how they got to that conclusion.

Rose and Sherlock then fell into their soon formed habit of seemingly reading the others mind, their explanations flowing into one big mess of words so similarly spoken, you would have trouble working out which one they came from. John had soon found it quite fascinating, but Lestrade was still finding it quite unnerving.

Rose started it off. "Mr Ewart of Janus car had a 20,000 Colombian peso note in his wallet."

Sherlock threw in his two cents then. "Quite a bit of change too." She frowned towards at this, remembering the unnecessary lie he had told.

Rose picked up again though. "He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars on the wall, I could see his tan line clearly."

"No one wears a shirt on a sun bed." Sherlock said seriously, starting up again. "That, plus his arm."

"His arm?" Lestrade asked, looking from one to the other again.

"He kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him, and bleeding. Why?" Rose asked rhetorically, Sherlock answering it anyway.

"Because he had recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion - he had just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia."

Rose took her turn then. "Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance, and she splits it with Janus Cars."

John frowned here though. "Mrs Monkford?"

Sherlock just smiled slightly. "Oh, yes. She's in on it too. Now, go and arrest them, Inspector, that's what you do best. We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved." Sherlock turned to walk away.

He got a few steps before declaring in a deep and proud voice, "I am on fire!"

Rose let out a small huff of a chuckle but stayed where she was. John turned to look at her though, seeing her lack of movement. "Not coming?"

"I'm going to stay with Lestrade if no one minds. I want to make sure Joe's alright." She said. John just nodded and ran after Sherlock before he got a cab with out him.

Lestrade turned to her. "Do you two practise that stuff, or what?"

She smiled slightly again, looking away from her retreating friends, turning to the DI. "When you live and work with the man, Inspector, you pick up a few of his habits."

The DI just shook his head, heading to his car muttering, "God help us all," under his breath.

Half an hour later, Rose was running towards where they had said her brother was. She had smoked three more cigarettes since John and Sherlock had left, and she had started to feel sick from it all. This was why her cigarettes were now sitting in Lestrade's pocket. Lestrade himself had gone before her, making sure everything was in order. She had gotten bored though, sick of waiting for her brother to be safe with her again.

"I though I told you to wait behind?" The DI asked, catching her as she moved closer to the group of officers.

"Live and work, Lestrade." She reminded him. "You think his speech patterns are all I have learned for him?"

Joe looked up at the familiar voice, never being so thankful to hear it. "Rose?"

She opened her arms, still moving forward. He took the opportunity, running forward and crushing her in a hug, the young woman hugging back just as fiercely. "It's okay now. You're safe. It's all fine now." She whispered to him as he tried to hold back his emotions. Though she may have been the younger of the three, they all sometimes wondered who was actually the oldest.

Lestrade just waited awkwardly on the sidelines for a few minuets before he cleared his throat a little, bringing the siblings back to the situation. "He's going to need to be checked out at a hospital." Lestrade said, earning a sharp look form Rose.

"He'll come home with me. I can have John look him over." She stated calmly, but both men caught the fight in her tone; she would not back down.

Lestrade had to try though. He gave her a stern look, "Rose…"

She straighter her back a little taking a small step forward. "Inspector…." She replied, voice now cold as ice. She would not let Joe out of her sight for a while; even if she did know she was being overprotective about it.

Lestrade just sighed. _Damn stubborn woman, _he thought irritably at her. "It's procedure. He was in a hostage situation." Both sibling flinched slightly at the reminder. "He has to go to the hospital."

Rose just sighed slightly, looking the DI in the eye. She knew he was just doing his job, but she still found herself giving him some form of blame for their delay in getting home. "Inspector, I do believe that you cannot force the victim to seek out medical attention, simply recommend it, if highly so." She turned to Joe, her voice softening again. "Joe, do you want to go to the hospital and wait several hours to be seen by a random doctor? Or would you rather come home with me, see my very good friend, the best doctor I know, have a cup of tea and be done within ten minuets?" She knew what he would pick; Joe hated hospitals.

Joe just looked from one to the other, then answered in a quiet voice, "I think I'd want something a little stronger than a cuppa, to be honest."

Rose spun to face Lestrade, raising an eyebrow in challenge. He just held her gaze for a few moments before sighing in defeat. "Thank you." She said honestly, holding out her hand for him. He took it before handing her the cigarettes and lighter he had confiscated from her, knowing she would make herself quite ill if she carried on the way she was. Joe's eyes lit up at the sight of the recognisable box and lighter, Rose catching the movement, simply giving them to him. He lit up as she turned to Lestrade again. "You know where we are if you need anything else." He nodded and she started to walk away from the scene, her big brother following her.

"How opposed are you to a short walk? My place isn't far from here." She told him, just getting a nod in reply.

They enjoyed the company of the other as they walked slowly to Baker Street, Rose unlocking the door as she went in.

"John, you home?" She called, hoping that he was in.

"Living room!" She heard back from him.

"Come on." She said to Joe, heading up the stairs, taking her coat off as she went. Going into the living room she found Sherlock at the desk, John's laptop in front of him, sitting in his thinking pose. John was sat in his arm chair, cup of tea in hand as he read a paper. He looked up as they walked in, Rose putting her coat on the back of the door.

"Joe, this is Doctor John Watson, my good friend and the man I was telling you about. The other is Sherlock Holmes; don't let him freak you out too much." She introduced with a fond smile, noting John's slight blush at having been talked about. "Guy's, this is my eldest brother, Joe."

"Hey." Said Joe, giving a small wave, looking around slightly nervous. He was still on edge after what had happened in the past several hours.

"Hi." Said John with a warm smile. He saw that Joe looked very similar to Zach in many ways, though Joe was taller, being an inch or two shorter than Sherlock, with wavy brown hair falling thickly to his shoulders and into his face, electric blue eyes peeking out from underneath the tangle of hair. He wore a short army styled coat, unzipped to show a plain black t-shirt underneath, collar ripped open. Black jeans lead down to a pair of plain black trainers. He seemed shaky though, eyes never resting on one thing for more than a moment. John frowned slightly. "Have you had any medical attention or anything like that? You seem a little … on edge."

Joe gave a nervous chuckle quietly. "Can you really blame me?"

"Go sit on the sofa, Joe. I'll make you that cuppa." Rose said, turning to John and glancing towards the kitchen, indicating that they should talk. He got the message and followed her into the room, watching as she flicked the kettle on, turning back to him. "Could you do me a favour, John, and just make sure he's alright? I wouldn't ask usually, but…well…" She asked quietly, struggling to explain her reasons though. It turned out she didn't need to in the end.

"It's fine, Rose. I understand. He seems fine, just a bit shaken up. I'll check him over anyway, just to be sure." He said, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Thanks, John. You really are a brilliant friend. And I'm sorry about earlier-" She said, starting to apologise again.

John saw this though and was having none of it. "Hey! It's fine! You don't have to keep apologising, alright?" He said firmly, putting a hand on each of her shoulders. "I'm fine, so is Joe and - heaven forbid - so is Sherlock." He said, trying to cheer his friend up a little, getting a small chuckle and a smile in response to his efforts. "So just stop apologising, okay?" She just nodded, smiling slightly as he smiled at her, rubbing her shoulders slightly. "Alright, then." He said, before giving her a final smile and going back to the living room to do his little job.

Joe took the cup of tea from his little sister as she came back to the room, sitting next to him on the sofa. John stood up from checking his pupils, looking between the two siblings, seeing that Rose was closer to Joe than she was to Zach.

"You'll be just fine with a bit of food and drink in your system and a good nights sleep." John said, giving them a smile and going back to his chair again.

Sherlock put his input in though, wanting to add to John's deductions. "And a cigarette."

"Already had one, Sherlock." Rose replied, ignoring John's quiet scoff at the idea. John just couldn't get his head around how a cigarette could help someone, though he remembered when his consulting friend had said the same about the younger of the two siblings in the past. He'd been right then too.

Sherlock didn't look up as he gave a retort, carefully laced with insult to test how she was doing at that moment. "Well give him another one then. He seems to smoke more than you do, though today substantially alters that ratio."

Rose just chuckled, letting Sherlock know that she was doing just fine for now. "You can hardly blame me, now can you?" She asked rhetorically as she handed Joe the cigarette box and lighter once more, watching as he lit up straight away.

Joe gave her back her things, frowning in curiosity. "How long you been smoking then, little sis?"

She smiled at his endearment. "Good few years now." He just nodded as he thought it over. "Better question though is what are you doing in London?"

Joe blew out a puff of smoke, Rose noting that John had gone back to his paper, and Sherlock had gone back to his thinking. They were giving them some space. "I was gonna come down to see Zach for a bit and thought I'd check out your new place while I was at it. Then plans changed a bit…" He trailed off, but seeing the shadow in his sisters eyes, he changed the subject again. "Nice place, by the way. Though is that a skull on the mantle?"

Sherlock half smiled slightly, remembering Zach asking the same thing. "Yes, a friend of mine. Well, I say friend…" He trailed off, giving the same answer as before to compare reactions. He was pleasantly surprised.

Joe just chuckled slightly, not being freaked out at all. "Alright then. Your flat, I guess."

Sherlock smiled inwardly at not having to fight another of Rose's brothers while John tried to hide his smile, not quite succeeding though. Rose just let a small smile cross her features for a moment, before she became serious as she looked to Joe again.

"You can take my room, Joe. I'll take the sofa until this is all sorted out."

Joe frowned though, shaking his head slightly. "I can't take your room, Rose. I'm sure Zach can put me up for a night or two anyway."

Rose was determined though. "I'd really rather you stay here. And I'll give Zach a call to tell him what's happened and to warn him to be careful."

John looked up then. "Wait, you think he's making it personal?"

Rose just sighed. "He snuck into my bathroom and planted the shoes, then kidnapped my brother. I can't take the chance that he's _not_."


	11. Chapter 11

**The Silent Game**

**The Caring Silence**

Joe lay in his borrowed bed that night, mind still relatively blank from all that had happened, trying to process the events of the day. He simply couldn't do it though and it was only keeping him awake.

Rolling over onto his side, he changed his thoughts from the incomprehensible to something he could actually understand; his little sister.

He could believe that she had started smoking, it was one of the few things he _could_ believe about the day. He also understood her moving in with the kind doctor and the other, weirder man; it was her sort of crowd. But she had been worried about him, as always.

They had spent the past few hours catching up, him telling her about his multiple jobs and girlfriends and her telling him about the row with their parents a little more and her new life.

He smile slightly. She really did seem happy in London.

With the smile still on his face he fell into a world of nightmares. Images of bombs, crowds, people just walking past, unaware for the life threatening danger they were in. He heard a voice on the phone, wanting desperately to call out for help, from someone, anyone.

He woke not long after he went to sleep, breathing heavily, trying to push the images away but they only seemed to leak from his eyes in the form of salty droplets.

Getting up, he went to the little bathroom, leaning over the sink and looking into the mirror above it. He was sickly pale, with dark marks under his eyes. He sighed at the sight.

After washing his face with a little warm water, he opened the cupboard, frowning slightly at the pen cobweb in the corner. Putting it out of his sleep deprived head, he looked for a bottle of sleeping pills. Taking two, he went back to the other room.

On his way though, he though he heard the quietist possible sounds from upstairs. It sounded like someone plucking some form of stringed instrument. But laying in the warm bed again, Joe found he was asleep in a dreamless state before he could determine anything else of the unusual sound.

Sherlock sat in his arm chair, thinking position in full swing. John had gone to bed a few hours ago, Joe turning in an hour or so before that and Rose had just finished her hot chocolate, deciding to curl up on the sofa under a heavy blanket, which she had pulled up so that it covered most of her face, MP3 loud enough that Sherlock could heard the harsh guitars and drums that accompanied the screaming lyrics.

He couldn't think what could happen next with the bomber. It seemed that there would be five tests, if he was right about the pips getting fewer every time they got a new one. _But then what?_

He needed to play his violin, but he didn't really want to disturb Rose. Usually he wouldn't care, but he had noticed that the blanket was muttering quietly as his friend lay under it. It had started half an hour after she had settled down for the night. He could just about make out the quiet words that seemed to fit with the harsh sounds of her MP3, her voice blending harmoniously with the harsh drums and screaming guitars.

"_God bless us everyone,We're a broken people living under loaded it can't be outfought,It can't be outdone,It can't be outmatched,It can't be outrun."_

Sherlock had abandoned his musings for once, just listening to his friends soft singing, the words varying slightly every few verses, but staying the same throughout as the song repeated over and over again. He found that while the words were slightly unusual, he enjoyed the sound of her voice, wishing she would sing more often.

"_And when I close my eyes tonight,To symphonies of blinding bless us everyone,We're a broken people living under loaded memories in cold decay,Transmissions echoing from the world of you and I,Where oceans bleed into the sky._

_God save us everyone,Will we burn inside the fires of a thousand the sins of our hands,The sins of our tongues,The sins of our fathers,The sins of our young."_

But her breathing had evened out after her over-two-hours-worth of muttering and Sherlock had determined that she had fallen asleep. He didn't want to wake her, knowing she would probably just shout at him or something of the sort.

As the time went by however, he found his fingers itching to play his beloved instrument and decided he could just play quietly.

With that in mind, he picked up his violin, resting it against his torso and started to pluck a few strings quietly, finding the soothing notes did help him think - a little bit.

Rose pulled the blanket up, nearly over her head, hiding most of her face as she faced the back of the sofa. She put on her music, an upbeat yet dark and softer Linkin Park song with a soothingly strong rhythm of a bass guitar pounding from the head phones that were buried deep in her ears, thrumming through her body, relaxing all her muscles, letting her slump right into the comfort of the large piece of furniture.

She felt the tears start not long after, simply trailing their way down her face, running into the fabric of the sofa as she unknowingly let the lyrics slip from her lips. She worked to keep her mind blank put the emotional baggage from the day just had her thinking of what could have happened.

She felt a fresh wave of tears leak from her eyes as she blinked, remembering the conversation she had had with Zach over the phone earlier that evening.

Rose sighed, picking up her phone, finding Zach's number and calling it, putting the devise next to her ear. Sherlock had gone to his room for a bit and Joe had gone with John to pick up some food shopping - Joe wanting to get out and about for a bit, John wanting to get to know the man a little more. Rose smiled slightly at the thought, _they seem to get along well._

"_What do you want, Rose?" _Came the rude answer on the other end of the line as Zach answered the call. She was not in the mood for his ways though, having had a really bad day. His answer only re-ignited the anger she felt, this time directed at him.

Sarcastic as always, a hard edge to her voice, she replied, "Oh, just to see how you are, see if you're alright, 'cause Joe certainly isn't. Thought you might want to know." She knew he cared more for Joe than her. It had hurt at one point, but now it was just another thing that she knew about her sibling.

"_What? What are talking about?" _He answered, sounding irritated.

"Joe was kidnapped today and had a bomb strapped to him while he stood in a street for over seven hours. He's fine now. He's safe and staying at mine." She informed him, making sure to put another pinch of icy stubbornness on the last little fact. Baker Street was the safest place she knew for now.

The other line was quiet for a moment as Zach thought about what he had heard. _"That can't be…" _He said in disbelief, sounding as though he was struggling to get the words out.

She had no patience for his denial though. "Well, it's true… We were the ones who worked the case." She told him quietly. She shook herself, getting back on topic before he could interrupt. "I was just calling to tell you what's happening and to warn you."

"_Warn me?" _He asked suspiciously.

"We don't know for sure yet, but the perp might be making this a little personal. I don't want to find you in the same situation Joe was in." She said, voice a little softer at the end.

Zach took a second to think it through. _"So all this is because of you?"_

Sherlock walked into the living room then to find Rose sitting up on the sofa, leaning forward and on the phone. But the look on her face made him frown; it was the most angry he had seen her yet, eyes flashing dangerously. He heard her speak lowly, the anger seeping into her tone as she tried to control herself. It was almost frightening to watch, let alone hear. "Yes, Zachery. I am the one going around strapping bombs to people, threatening my own brother with his death. Why didn't we all see it before? Of course it's my fault!" She had started out sarcastic, getting louder as she went, not noticing Sherlock in the door way watching her.

Rose chuckled is shock after hearing his shouted reply of, _"If he's making it personal, then we're all in danger because of you!"_

"Once again thinking of your own skin, why am I surprised?" She said, voice deflated again but anger still bubbling under the surface. "I just called to warn you to be careful. I don't particularly want you to get kidnapped. You may be a bastard, but your still my brother."

"_How touching." _He said sarcastically before bringing up the memory of that morning. _"By the way, does your stalker have an umbrella and a weird way of getting in touch?"_

_Shit, _she thought. "Just ignore him, Zach. He is too high up the food chain to mess with." Though it didn't stop her.

She heard him sigh. "Joe can come and stay at mine for now."

Sherlock was getting bored now and decided to make himself a cup of coffee, since it was obvious that Rose wouldn't do it anytime soon.

She wasn't up for a debate on the topic and tried to convince him. "No, he can stay at mine. It's all already sorted and there are more people here to keep an eye on things. Even got a doctor."

"Rose…" Zach said firmly, trying to move the stubborn woman. She wasn't having it though.

"It's done Zach. End of story."

"_I think you forget who's the older out of us sometimes, little sister." _He said, the nickname sounding more like an insult from him.

"And I think you forget who's actually the more mature out of us. Get over yourself Zach, it's done." She was about to hang up when she heard a reply that made her freeze.

"_It's not done if you're gonna get him blown up!"_

She had given him eight parting words before she hung up before he could even think of a reply. "You just don't think sometimes, do you, Zach?"

She had found Sherlock in the kitchen making is own coffee for once after the little call. Neither had mentioned it and she was once again grateful to the secrets that the man kept.

She didn't know how long she lay there, tears falling from her eyes as she thought about her family and the new dangers her life had brought with it. Eventually the tears stopped and she just focused on breathing steadily. Finding her music was more annoying than helpful, she turned it off, taking out her headphones and just listening to the silence.

She couldn't sleep.

After a while she heard a single, quiet note ring out in the silence; Sherlock was playing his violin. After a few more notes, she rolled over - after wiping her face - and saw Sherlock in his chair, facing away from her, plucking a few strings on his violin.

Sherlock jumped as he heard a quiet voice from behind him. "You can play properly if you want." She knew he usually played properly in the nights; he said it helped him think. She could only conclude that he wasn't doing so right now because he didn't want to disturb her.

He spun around to face her - having played a strange sound as he jumped - and saw he lying on the sofa, head resting on one of her hands, the other draped over her middle as she watched him, the blanket pulled back enough to show a large, baggy band t-shirt. He saw the freshly made red rims of her eyes and realised she had been crying. "I thought you were sleeping."

She smiled with a hint of sadness. "Can't sleep right now."

"You should, you know. Tomorrow's going to be another busy one." He told her.

Her smile grew a fraction; she knew he cared about them really, John more so, but still. "I know."

They sat in silence for a while, Sherlock playing the odd note here and there, Rose just watching him. She got an idea then, wondering if she should ask. _What the hell… _she thought, making a decision.

"Play something?"

Sherlock looked at her frowning. She had never asked him to play anything before. Then he realised she had never asked him to stop playing. Ever. Even John had told him to shut up multiple times, usually in the night when he needed to sleep. She hadn't said anything though. "Anything in particular?" He asked, curious to see what she would request.

She raised an eyebrow. "Know any Beethoven?"

He smirked slightly, raising the violin to set it under his chin. Pulling the bow across the strings, he saw Rose smile in recognition.

"Moonlight Sonata." She said, adding a whispered, "Beautiful…" to the end as she closed her eyes, humming along.

Just as he drew the song to a close, he noticed she had stopped humming, having fallen into a peaceful sleep by then. Pulling down his violin again, he sighed, wondering why she claimed she couldn't sleep on moment, and the next she was doing just that - while he played his violin, no less.

Shaking his head, he stood from his chair and crept over to the sofa, pulling the blanket up a little more, like she had had it earlier. Standing straight again, a thought occurred to him, making him frown as he made his way to his room for a few hours sleep. _Curse her and her puzzling ways!_

He was starting to really care about her.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Silent Game**

**A Silent Something**

The next morning, the three flat mates sat in the little café down the road, John having just finished a full English breakfast, Rose sitting next to him, choosing waffles instead. Sherlock sat opposite them and simply had coffee.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asked, knowing that the pair of them had been starving, though Rose hid it much better than John, not even complaining.

"Much." They answered in unison, looking to each other and chuckling a little.

John carried on. "Feels like we've barely stopped for breath since this thing started."

"You get used to it." Rose said lightly, starting on her small milkshake.

John frowned, thinking he should keep an eye on his friend's eating habits from now on. Then another thought came to him. "Has it occurred to you-"

"Probably." Answered Sherlock, getting a smirk from Rose.

John just gave him a look. "Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? Possibly with the both of you? The envelope, the phone, Carl Powers from your past Sherlock and Rose's bathroom and brother?"

"Yes, I know." Sherlock answered.

"Is it him then?" She asked lowly. "Moriarty?"

"Perhaps." Sherlock said. It was then that the little pink phone beeped with a new message, as though it knew they were talking about the subject.

It was a photo of a smiling blond woman, three pips sounding out as the three of them looked at the image.

Sherlock frowned, looking quite lost. "That could be anybody."

"Well, it could be, yeah." John seemed to know who she was though, causing Rose to look up at him as he got off his chair, Sherlock still looking at the phone. "Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed." John's temping job at the clinic had run it's course, ending two days before they got the case and John had been a little bored.

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock asked, not quite understanding, though Rose had a vague idea of where this was heading.

"Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly." Was the reply from the doctor as he went to pick up the remote on the counter, flicking through the channels until he stopped on a particular one. It showed the woman in the photo - Connie Prince - talking to an audience, going on about silk purses.

Rose's head snapped back to the phone as it rang once again, Sherlock answering it, keeping it quiet enough so it was just the two of them to hear the person, not wanting to disturb anyone else in the café.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

A shaky voice spoke, sounding older than the rest. _"This one…is a bit…defective. Sorry."_ Rose pitied the woman having to apologise for her own faults, though she felt a small amount of guilt for the relief that ran through her at not recognising the voice. _"She's blind. This is…a funny one. I'll give you…twelve hours."_

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked, wanting some form of information, other than what he had been specifically given.

"_I like…to watch you…dance." _The words sent a chill down Rose's spine, only added to by the gasping noise the woman made. Sherlock ended the call as John came to sit down again, having left the telly on. Sherlock and Rose shared a look that spoke volumes; it wasn't going to be an easy one, and they would only get harder.

Sherlock looked to the television as Rose filled John in quietly on what he needed to know; missing out that it was an old lady and that she was deaf. It would only serve to distract him and make him feel bad. She still didn't like it.

Sherlock listened to the television as his friends talked quietly. _"Miss Prince, famous for her makeover programs, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in…"_

Striding through the morgue, Rose followed Sherlock, John just behind her, as the approached the body laid on the table, sheet covering it up to the shoulders. She noted the three puncture wounds on the woman's arm, dried blood still on the skin. Lestrade was a couple of steps ahead of Sherlock, reading from a blue folder.

"Connie Prince, 54, she had one of those makeover shows on the telly. Did you see it?" He asked, getting a funny look from Rose. _Why would Sherlock, of all people, watch a makeover show?_

"No." Came the predicted reply.

"Very popular, she was going places." Lestrade told them.

"Not anymore." Sherlock answered in an off handed manner.

"Hence the _was_." Replied Rose, still looking to the body.

"Time and a place, children." John butted in before they started something bigger.

Rose sighed, mind focusing on the case once again. "So, dead two days."

Sherlock carried on. "According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden."

"Nasty wound. May I?" Rose asked, going to take a closer look after getting a permission giving nod from Lestrade. She picked up the hand carefully as Sherlock spoke, prying the thumb away from the hand as far as it would go without the tight skin pulling back, frowning as she looked at the cut.

"Tetanus bacteria enters the blood stream; good night, Vienna." Sherlock stated, looking over the body again.

"I s'pose." John chipped in absently, taking the folder off Lestrade and looking over the medical notes taken.

"Something's wrong with this picture." Sherlock told them.

"Eh?" Asked Lestrade, looking a little lost.

"Well, obviously." Rose answered Sherlock, ignoring the inspector. "Otherwise the bomber wouldn't be telling us about it."

"Found anything yet?" He asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"As it happens, yes." She answered smugly. He frowned at this though, wondering what she could have found before him. "Come take a look at the wound." He did so, taking out his little magnifier as he did. "Got to get one of them…" She muttered, seeing the little devise.

"Remind me when we get back to the flat…" He muttered, running the little glass over the cut and up the woman's arm, settling on her face for a bit before snapping the case shut again. As he did this, he spoke to John. "John, cut on her hand, it's deep. Would have bled a lot, right?"

"Yeah." Answered John, sounding a little like Sherlock with the tone of obviousness he spoke with.

"But the wound's clean. Very clean, and fresh." Sherlock continued.

"Hasn't been washed because there's still blood on her arm." Rose deduced.

"How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" Sherlock asked suddenly, looking to Lestrade and John, who still had the folder.

"Oh, eight, ten days." John said, getting a half smile from Sherlock as he then proceeded to try to look like he was waiting patiently. Rose didn't think he was doing a good job though, so she thought aloud.

"Cut was made post-mortem?" She asked, eyebrow raised in question.

John looked at her as Lestrade asked, "After she was dead?"

"Must have been." Sherlock answered, giving Rose a small smile. She took it as a small praise. "The only question is - how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?"

Rose hummed in contemplation and Sherlock looked over to her, still not being quite used to having people willing to do work for him. He still took full advantage though. "Rose." She looked up, noting the tone he used; it was one that meant she had a proper job to do, most likely going on her own. She never minded though; she liked to work alone. "Connie Prince's background - family history, everything, give me data!"

"On it, boss!" She said, heading out of the door, but paused on hearing Lestrade, thinking it may be important.

"There's something else we haven't thought of."

"Is there?" Sherlock asked, heading to follow her, but Lestrade called him back.

"Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber?" Sherlock paused. "If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it up?"

"Good Samaritan." Sherlock explained simply, but there was something else. Rose saw he was trying to avoid the topic it seemed, trying to get Lestrade off his back.

"Who press-gangs suicide bombers?" Lestrade retorted.

Rose got in before Sherlock did, drawing Lestrade's attention for a second. "Bad Samaritan."

Sherlock threw her a smirk as Lestrade stuttered slightly. "I'm… I'm serious here, guys! Listen, I'm cutting you slack here, I'm trusting you but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and he's just waiting for you to solve the puzzle, so just tell me…" He said, looking Sherlock in the eye, even though the other man had lowered his gaze slightly, staring off into space once more. "…what are we dealing with?"

Rose waited for Sherlock's answer, but caught his smile - though he tried to repress it, knowing it was not entirely appropriate - not unnerved in the slightest by the now familiar sadistic edge it had acquired, one that perfectly matched his intrigued tone of voice.

"Something new."


	13. Chapter 13

**The Silent Game**

**Sherlock, A Silent Darling**

Sherlock paced in front of the sofa, the wall behind it becoming their newest evidence board. Lestrade stood in front if it, used to the madman's methods by now. John sat in his chair, going over the details in his mind, looking over the notes he had taken, trying to come up with some form of idea while simultaneously trying _not_ to watch the clock. It showed they had eights hours left and John was all too aware of that little fact.

"Connection, connection, connection." Sherlock muttered as he rubbed his hands together, pacing a hole in the floor. "There must be a connection…" Suddenly he turned to the board, John getting up to joining the other two men as Sherlock talked it all out, pointing to random photos, scribbles and bits of string as he went along. "Carl Powers, killed 20 years ago. The bomber knew him, admitted he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in the stationery from the Czech Republic. The first hostage was from Cornwall, the second from London, the third form Yorkshire, judging by her accent." John frowned at the man's quick words, the man himself spreading his arms wide as he tried in vain to understand the bomber. "What's he doing? Working his way around the world, showing off?"

In the next second, the pink phone decided to ring out again, distracting the three men from the evidence board, John and Lestrade looking to Sherlock as he answered the call.

"_You're…enjoying this…aren't you?" _Said a shaky voice, clearly heard in the now silent room. John saw that Sherlock didn't even look ashamed of the fact. _"Joining the…dots." He's watching us, _Sherlock thought and not for the first time. "_Three hours….Boom…Boom!" _She said as she gasped, starting to sob again.

Sherlock put the phone away after the call cut off, putting his hands together and turned back to the evidence board, ignoring John's worried glance to him and Lestrade's sigh of tiredness. _How long could this go on for?_

"We're devastated, of course." Rose heard as she followed the victim's brother into a bright, yet grey toned, stripy living room. She sat down in the middle of a cushion covered loveseat, watching as the brother went to stand by the mantle.

"Can I get you anything, Miss?" She heard as her free hand fell on a furless feline that seemed very inquisitive.

"No, thank you." She replied politely.

As the man left them to talk, she turned back to the purple shirted man as he spoke. "Raoul is my rock. I don't think I could have managed." She slipped a hand into her bag - the same one she took to see Mycroft - pulling out the same note pad and pen as she had earlier, starting to take notes. "We didn't always see eye to eye…. But my sister was very dear to me."

Rose gently picked up the cat that was trying to settle on her lap, placing it to the side of her, speaking as she did so, a sympathetic smile on her face. "And to the public, Mr Prince." The cat meowed loudly as it was moved.

"Oh, she was adored." The man said, almost believably. "I've seen her take girls who look like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses." _Damned cat_, Rose thought, annoyed at both the second meow the animal made and that fact that it was trying to crawl onto her lap again. The man didn't notice though. "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears."

She plastered on another sympathetic smile, forcing the emotion into her tone as the cat started to purr in her hands. "Absolutely."

"Great." John heard Sherlock say from the other side of the room. He was stood to the right of Mrs Hudson, Lestrade on the other side of her, all three of the looking at the evidence board. Sherlock was on the other side of the room, in front of the fireplace, speaking on the phone. "Thank you. Thanks again."

"It's a real shame." Mrs Hudson said, looking to the taller men either side of her. "I liked her. She taught you how to do your colours."

"Colours?" Asked Lestrade, not understanding the woman's words.

"What goes best with what." Said John, giving Lestrade's answering look a roll of the eyes.

"I should never wear cerise, apparently." Mrs Hudson gave an example, oblivious to the men's silent conversation. "Drains me."

Lestrade saw Sherlock walk back over to them and decided to talk to him instead of getting fashion advise. "Who's that?"

Sherlock didn't look away from the wall of information, eyebrows pulled together as he answered. "Home Office."

"Home office?" Questioned Lestrade, not quite believing it.

"Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favour." Sherlock answered, John mouthing the last four words with him, used to the fact that Sherlock knew a lot of people in a lot of places; most of which owed him some form of favour.

"She was a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much." Mrs Hudson thought aloud, going off on a tangent slightly. "They all do these days. People can hardly move their faces." Sherlock thought of something then as his landlady chuckled on. "It's silly, isn't it? Did you ever see her show?"

"Not until now." Sherlock replied, going to pick up the laptop from the side. He felt his annoyance spike at the sight of it; it was John's laptop. One he had hacked into many times for many reasons, mostly boredom. But he had still not been able to get into Rose's laptop. This had annoyed him to no end. Not even threatening her had worked! He hadn't given up though…

"_Oh, you look pasty, love!" _Came a voice form the folding devise as the consulting detective held it up for Mrs Hudson and the other two men to see.

"That's the brother." Mrs Hudson pointed out to the man now speaking on the screen. "No love lost there, if you can believe the papers."

"So I gather." Sherlock said in reply. "I've just been having a very fruitful chat with the people who love this show. The fan site's indispensable for gossip."

"_There's really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don't you think, girls?" _Said the woman in the video, indicating to her brother. She was clapping with the crowd at first, then slapping him on the back, chanting, _"Off, off, off, off…"_

"Yes, well it would be a lot more common than most people assume. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing." Rose was saying, trying to get as much information on the man as she could. He had just seated himself very close to her however, looking at her intently. She shifted away from him slightly. "If left untreated, it can cause all sorts of problems and such."

"I don't know what I'm going to do now." The man said, his stare seemingly unblinking.

"Right…" She replied, shifting at his invasion of her personal space once again.

"I mean she's left me this place…which is lovely…" He started to explain, still not looking away from her. "…But it's not the same without her."

She sat up, leaning away from him more, turning to face him. "That's why my paper wanted to get the full story. Straight from the horses mouth, so to speak." She offered with a small smile, hoping to anyone who would listen that she wasn't somehow leading him on. _Need the information though_, a small voice reminded her.

_Doesn't make me feel any better, _she retorted to the voice.

"Are you sure it's not too soon?" She asked, trying to force herself to become a little more comfortable. It was a wasted effort; she really didn't like the man.

"No." He answered, somehow making her feel a little worse; she wasn't sure how though. "You fire away."

She cleared her throat then looked to her pad of paper, inspiration suddenly striking her. "Actually, do you mind if I make a quick call?

Sherlock noticed somewhere in the back of his vast mind that John had gone to make himself a cup of tea, the offer of a hot drink declined by both detectives. Looking up to the board, he heard his own phone go off, slightly surprised by the sound. Checking the ID, he saw it was Rose.

"Rose." He answered.

As the phone was ringing, Rose waiting for the man to pick up, she had had another idea; this time on how to put off Mr Invades-personal-space. "Sherlock, _darling!" _She drawled.

Sherlock frowned at the sound, not liking it from her. He knew it was an act though and responded accordingly. "Got yourself another one, _my dear_?" Like his brother, Sherlock Holmes felt it was only fair.

"Oh, don't start that now!" She said, giggling slightly, though he heard her somewhat exasperated tone. They had had this sort of conversation before after all, both knowing where it would go. "I need you to pay a visit. I think I've got a good one here."

Sherlock deduced that the man was probably listening in on the conversation then. She really meant; got a good idea of what's happened, need a bit of help with it though. "Need anything first?" _She usually did_, he thought.

"Got a pen?" Came the teasing voice from the other end of the line. He could practically see her smirk.

"I'll remember it, I'm sure." He retorted dryly.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Silent Game**

**A Wrongful Silence**

Fifteen minuets after she had called Sherlock - filled with awkward silences and empty words - she heard a knock at the door.

"That'll be him." She said, smiling slightly as she set down he almost empty glass of lemonade.

"What?" The man said, having gone into his own thoughts for the past minuets or so.

John walked in then, speaking as he went. "Ah, Mr Prince, isn't it?"

"Yes," Replied the man. Rose had turned to greet her friend, but she didn't miss the tone of voice that the other man had spoken with.

John smiled as he shook the brother's hand, ignoring the look Rose was giving him; the smile was far too sweet, the eyes clearly saying, _about bloody time!_ "Very good to meet you."

"Yes, thank you." Replied Mr Prince.

"I'm so sorry…to hear about…" John started, the awkwardness showing through a little, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

"Yes, yes, very kind." The man said, gripping John's hand firmly still. He saw how they acted together and how she spoke on the phone. _Still don't know for sure though… _he thought, not quite convinced. "You must be Sherlock Holmes, then."

John quickly changed his tune, trying to set the man straight; he still remembered the last time someone got him and Sherlock mixed up. "No, no, no. I'm John, John Watson." He turned to Rose. "Sherlock's a little busy at the moment, sent me instead."

"That's fine." She said, a ghost of a smirk on her lips. "I half expected as much." _Fully expected as much, _she corrected in her thoughts. "Shall we…?"

John moved over, taking out the camera equipment as he went, handing the camera over to her, as well as a flash; he had no idea how to use the things. "So, he was right, then?" John asked quietly.

"Yep." She replied, briefly looking over the standard camera and flash, thanking some unknown force that made her choose to take photography in school. "The bacteria got into her system another way, just need to check something out."

"Oh yeah?" John asked, wanting to know the plan. He didn't get to hear it though.

"Right, are we all set?" Asked Mr Price, somewhat eager for the camera. Rose just smirked at John and went to work.

She snapped a few shots, the man warning her to not get too close - _the irony_, she thought - as he was "raw from crying." A few seconds later the cat came back for another round of attention seeking, walking up to John, giving out a loud meow in response to the new person.

"Oh, who's this?" John asked, picking up the cat, once again ignoring the now sceptical look Rose was giving him.

"Sekhmet." The man replied, Rose explaining before he could.

"After the Egyptian goddess?" She enquired.

"Yes." The man replied. It was John's turn to wear the sceptical look then.

"Ah... Connie's, I presume?" Rose carried on, remembering her long ago discarded interest for everything Egyptian.

"Yes, a little present from yours truly." He answered, stroking the cat on the head fondly.

"Umm, Rose? Light reading?" John asked, a twinkle in his eye.

She smiled at her doctor friend. _May as well humour him, _she thought as she temporarily blinded Mr Price, giving John time to check the paws of the annoying feline. She flashed it several more times, taking a few more shots, starting to get bored.

The cat meowed loudly then, unnerved by the flashing lights. Mr Price took the cat off John and Rose gave the doctor a raised eyebrow, wanting to know if he was finished yet. He nodded slightly.

"Well, I think we've got what we came for. Thank you, Mr Prince." Rose said, giving the man a bright smile and turning on her heel, picking up her back as John quickly ushered her out of the door.

"But you've not taken anything!" The man behind them shouted. They just carried on out the door.

As John closed the door behind him, Rose threw her head back, laughter falling from her lips.

"Yes!" John said in triumph as he followed the young woman out onto the street. "Ooh, yes! Good find Rose. He wouldn't have got that!"

She noted John was quite pleased with his little miscalculation so far. "You think it was the _cat_."

"What?" John asked, seeing her take her phone out. She somehow reminded him of Sherlock in that moment.

"It wasn't the cat, John." She said, typing a message to her boss.

_Figured it out yet?_

_What's happening?_

_RS_

"Yes." John said confident in his deductions. "Yeah, it is." He saw the look Rose gave him as she pocketed her phone again. "It must be. It's how the tetanus into her system. It's paws stink of disinfectant." She just chuckled at him, but he was sure of his conclusions. "No, he coated it onto the claws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't…"

She cut him off then, deciding to put him out of his misery, so to speak. "I'm sure Sherlock had thought of it, but even so. It's too random and way to clever for the brother. The brother is an idiot."

The mention of a suspect had John chuckling slightly in pride that he had solved the case. "He murdered his sister for her money."

Her phone went off in reply just then. She smirked as she read it silently, answering John with a slightly vacant, "Did he?"

_Of course. Meet at the Yard. _

_SH_

John frowned slightly, suddenly a little unsure. "Didn't he?"

She just smirked, throwing her hand in the air, hailing a cab. She held the door open for a confused John, climbing in after him. "Scotland Yard, please." She told the driver.

John just sighed in irritation, looking out of his window. He suddenly turned to her, seeing she was still smiling slightly, waiting for his argument. "But…the disinfectant on the cats paws!"

"Raoul keeps a clean house. A _very _clean house actually; it's a little scary really…" She trailed off absently, before snapping her head over to John. "You came in the kitchen, saw the state of the floor - scrubbed within an inch of it's life." She said dramatically, face serious but eyes laughing.

"But...the cat…the disinfectant!" John tried.

Rose cut him off though. "The cat doesn't come into it. And John, take no offence from this, but _you_ smell of disinfectant." She gave him a sympathetic smile as he frowned slightly, looking down to his clothes.

John noted with a hint of hesitance that the young woman was right and that both her and Sherlock probably had a better idea of what really happened.

He just wanted to be right. Just once.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Silent Game**

**A Deathly Silence**

Rose checked her phone for the time as she got out of the cab, holding the door for John and seeing Sherlock's cab pull up behind their own. _One hour left_, she thought worriedly; it was still cutting it too close for her liking. The Consulting Detective didn't wait for them and they didn't complain; they were still against the clock here, even if they had solved the case.

"Raoul de Santos is your killer." Sherlock announced as they walked into the office space, Lestrade leaning over one of the desks. "Kenny Prince's house boy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin." He leaned in to speak to Lestrade a little closer. "We've been here before; Carl Powers. Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself."

They walked into Lestrade's office, Lestrade questioning one the way. "So, how'd he do it?"

"Botox injection." Sherlock replied.

But Lestrade was confused. "Botox?"

"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum." Sherlock explained.

Rose felt she should chip in then. "Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections."

"My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months." Sherlock explained. "Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."

"You sure about this?" Lestrade asked, looking from Sherlock to Rose. The DI had found that checking with Rose had helped a little over the time she had started to work with the difficult man.

She just nodded as Sherlock replied, "I'm sure."

Lestrade nodded. "Alright, my office."

As Sherlock passed an unusually quiet John however, Rose saw the look in the doctor's eyes. _Uh Oh…_

"Hey, Sherlock, how long?" He asked, trying to be casual about it.

The man in question seemed confused though. "What?"

"How long have you known?" John explained a little further. Rose could see his patience was getting thin now.

"Well, this one was quite simple actually. And like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake." Sherlock didn't seem to understand what John was saying.

"Sherlock…" Rose warned quietly, but as usual, neither man paid her warnings any attention.

John stopped him as he went to walk off. "No, but, Sherlock, the hostage, the old woman, she's been there all this time!" John was starting to raise his voice and Rose hoped they weren't going to have another argument.

Sherlock gave as good as he got, as always, tone of voice matching John's with a dash of cold iciness about it that was just him. "I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us _twelve_ hours. I solved the case quickly, that gave me time to get on with other things." Rose saw he was getting annoyed now. She just watched, making sure that neither man went too far in their argument. "Don't you see? We're one up on him!" With that last remark, Sherlock went in the office, leaving his two flatmates behind; one shocked and angry, the other wary of what to do next.

John just looked to Rose, and she looked back, not backing down on the matter. She knew Sherlock was right, even if she didn't particularly like it. John just sighed slightly and went to follow Sherlock into the glass room, Rose just behind him.

Sherlock entered his post -_ Raoul de Santos, the house boy, Botox _- the pink phone ringing out not a moment later.

"Hello."

"_Help me!" _Came the predictable reply from the hostage.

Sherlock talked to her, trying to get her location. "Tell us where you are. Address?"

John came in the room that moment, going to stand next to his infuriating friend, Rose leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, one leg bent, head lolling to the side, brown hair resting against the frame.

"_He was so…" _She started, but Sherlock knew what would most likely happen should she finish that sentence. _"His voice…"_

"No, no, no, no!" He said, back straightening slightly from his bored posture to one of alertness. Rose saw the change and frowned slightly; something wasn't right. "Tell me nothing about him, nothing."

"_He sounded so…soft." _The four words were the last that Sherlock heard before the line cut off, a monotonous dial tone ringing out. It reminded Sherlock of a flat heart monitor.

Rose watched as Sherlock's face froze, his hand jerked the phone away form his ear slightly, stare blank and unblinking. "Hello?" He sounded slightly shocked, possibly even the smallest trace of panic in his tone. But the man knew he wouldn't get an answer.

"Sherlock?" Rose asked, hoping she was wrong in her ideas as to what had happened.

"What's happened?" John asked, looking to Sherlock for a moment, only seeing the man place the phone on the table again after hanging up on their end. John looked to Rose for an explanation, but the sight that met him made him frown.

She had dropped her head, but the good doctor could still see the single tear that had fallen down her cheek.

And as the four of them stood in the office, a heavy silence pressing in on them, Rose once again felt reality catch up to her a little bit.

She knew what had happened to the hostage.


	16. Chapter 16

**The Silent Game**

**A Sociopath With Silent Friends**

"_The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people…" _The television reporter's voice rang out in the otherwise silent flat of 221B Baker Street.

"Jesus Christ…" Whispered Rose in horror, griping her mug, half full of tea, a little tighter. She was sat in her usual place on the sofa, legs pulled up, Sherlock in his chair and John in his. Neither men had wanted a drink though; John didn't think he could stomach it at that moment and Sherlock just wasn't thirsty.

"Old block of flats." John said quietly, glancing to Sherlock who was also watching the television. "He certainly gets about."

"Well, I obviously lost that round." Sherlock said in a sour tone, though sounding more childish as he added on, "Although technically, I did solve the case." He turned the sound off, as John gave him an incredulous look. Sherlock - miraculously - didn't notice. "He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

John was confused though and pushed his annoyance aside for the time being. "What d'you mean?"

Sherlock started to explain. "Well, usually, he… must stay above it all. He organises these things, but no one ever has direct contact."

Rose just watched as John asked, "What, like the Connie Prince murder, he arranged that? So people come to him, wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"

Sherlock just looked thoughtful. "Novel." He whispered.

It was a few seconds later that Sherlock spoke again, the silence becoming too boring for him. "Taking his time this time."

John cleared his throat. "Anything on the Carl Powers case?" Rose frowned; something was wrong with John. He was avoiding Sherlock eyes, preferring to watch the television. She thought about what could be wrong as she sipped her drink.

"Nothing." Sherlock replied. "All the living class mates check out spotless, no connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?" John offered.

"The though had occurred." Sherlock informed him.

"So why is he doing this, then?" John asked, trying once again to understand the mental workings of a murdering psychopath. "Playing this game with you. Do you think he wants to be caught?"

Sherlock simply adopted his thinking position, fingertips touching, legs crossed. "Oh…. I think he wants to be distracted."

John just chuckled at the familiar words, though the sound held no amusement or humour. He pushed himself out of his chair. "I hope you'll be very happy together."

Sherlock was brought back to the world at his friends words, he found something about them he didn't like. "Sorry, what?"

Rose stiffened at John's raised voice; gun shots she could deal with, but she still didn't like shouting. "There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual _human_ lives!"

_Here we go_, she thought sadly, having been waiting for this for a few days now.

She knew Sherlock - though the man himself may disagree with that fact - but John seemed to see the world differently to her. He seemed to have a different opinion of right and wrong and what was acceptable in the world and in society. She had thought about it for a while and didn't know what else to do, other than wait it out and deal with things as they happened.

John carried on his little rant. "Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

Rose knew what Sherlock was going to say before he even said it. "Will caring about them help save them?"

John just looked as though that wasn't the point the was making, but he answered the question with a shake of his head regardless. "Nope."

"Then I'll continue to not make that mistake." Sherlock replied sharply.

"And you find that easy, do you?" John fired back. Rose saw the expectancy in his eyes; he thought he had won a little bit more. She knew better though.

"Yes, very." Sherlock replied, just as fast. "Is that news to you?"

John looked as though he shouldn't have been surprised at the answer he had gotten, but was anyway. Rose felt a little pity for the trust that he had put in Sherlock; this was one of the reasons she didn't trust so easily.

"No, no." John replied.

Sherlock came to a conclusion then. "I've disappointed you." He stated.

John went a little sarcastic then, bitter praise falling from his lips. "That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah."

"Don't make people into heroes, John." Sherlock stated, but Rose could see the frosty belief he held for his own words. "Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

Rose frowned at this though. _He's done so much though_, she thought, _if I were to call anyone a hero, it would be him!_

A heavy silence filled the air as John and Sherlock stared it out. John suddenly went to grab his coat. Sherlock spoke before he could get it though.

"Oh, now you're angry with me…" But - though it sounded so cliché - it wasn't the words that annoyed John so much, but it was the flippant tone in which he had said them.

"Of course I'm angry, Sherlock!" He snapped loudly, making Rose jump slightly. However, once again, neither men noticed her. He yanked on his coat as he spoke, anger flooding his words. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to think of someone other than yourself, for a change!" With that, he stormed out of the flat, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

Rose sipped her tea in silence as Sherlock adopted his thinking pose once more. A few minuets later, the pink phone beeped.

Sherlock unlocked it, Rose setting her now empty cup on the table, ready to work again. "Excellent." He said, voice back to it's normal, cold professionalism. "A view of the Thames. South Back, somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo. You check the papers, I'll look online." He said, taking out his own phone.

"Got it." She replied in her usual fashion, though it was quiet as she worried about her friend a little.. She was also trying to think of what she could say to the older man; he was hardly typical after all. As she looked through the papers, she read out some of the stories. "Archway suicide..."

"Ten a penny." He retorted, looking through his phone.

"Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington…" She moved onto the next paper, finding something she _had _heard about. "Ah, man found of the train line, Andrew West."

"Nothing!" Sherlock muttered, dialling Lestrade, having given up his brief search of the internet. "It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?" She looked up, waiting for his reaction. "Text me the details." He said, hanging up and going to get his coat.

She followed his lead, grabbing her own coat. "Got something then?"

"Yep, come on." He said in reply.

Going down the stairs, Rose made a quick stop to knock on her own door. "Joe! I've got to go to work!" She shouted to her brother. "Call if you need anything!"

They had gotten in early that morning, having been out all night, getting to the Yard at some ungodly hour and having to stay there for several more hours to explain everything to Lestrade. She also had to write a report, Sherlock getting out of it somehow.

When they got home, she had just gone to sleep on the sofa, John going to his room and Sherlock going to sit in his chair in the living room, not bothered by the sleeping form of the young woman on the sofa; it had become a frequent sight when they were working a long case.

When she had woken up - after only an hour and a half of sleep - she had gotten up and gone to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and found a little present on the kitchen table.

"_What's this, Sherlock?" Rose asked, holding up the object in her hand. It was a magnifying glass, a shiny silver handle leading up to a steel framed piece of round glass, a small blue ribbon sitting around the handle._

"_It's a magnifying glass, Rose. I'd have thought you'd know that." Was the smart-ass remark she got in return._

"_I can see that." She replied. "What's it doing in the kitchen?"_

_He looked up to give her a confused look. "Of all the things I keep in the kitchen, it's the magnifying glass that you question?" He didn't get an answers and sighed; confusing woman! "You said you wanted a magnifying glass and I don't need that one anymore."_

_She was a little taken back. He had remembered and thought of her. "Really? I mean, are you sure?"_

"_Of course I'm sure." He replied, looking a little more confused. "You need a magnifying glass and there is a spare one here. Use it."_

_She gave him a bright smile, gratitude thick in her tone. "Thanks Sherlock!"_

She was still tired, but was a little more awake after her shower. She was now almost completely used to working the strange hours with Sherlock, which usually consisted of finding information one day, thinking all night, only to go running around the next day, trying to catch the guy who had done whatever crime had taken their fancy. Getting a muffled reply from her half asleep sibling, she smiled and followed Sherlock out of the door, stuffing her hands in her coat pockets, feeling her cigarettes and lighter in one, the magnifying glass in the other, the contact of the cold metal making her smile slightly.

As the cab driver drove off to the address Sherlock had given him, Rose turned to her friend. "You should cut John some slack, you know." She stated. "He's a caring person. He doesn't like to see people in danger." She got no response and sighed at the man's silence, turning her voice to a quieter tone. "One day he wont come back."

This got a response though. "Don't be stupid. He always comes back."

She brushed aside the slight insult, giving the man one of his own lessons back to him. "It's dangerous to assume; you know that."

"But it's _John_." He insisted, still not believing her words of warning.

She just gave him a look. "People are not as simple minded as you make them out to be, and John is hardly a regular person. He puts up with _you_, for a start." Rose felt the addition was fair; he always insulted her. Both knew the insulting banter was never taken seriously though.

Sherlock just huffed and looked out of his window, Rose leaving him to his thoughts. He still wasn't sure on the whole "friendship" thing, but he knew most people would apologise to their friend.

He wasn't most people though; he was Sherlock Holmes, high functioning sociopath_…with friends_. The added thought just confused him more.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Silent Game**

**A Silent Crime Scene**

Sherlock pulled on his gloves, Rose just pocketing her own hands as the pair of them approached Lestrade. They could clearly see the body that had been washed up onto the shore line, carried up further and placed on a sheet of dark material.

"Do you reckon this is connected then, the bomber?" Lestrade asked as they walked over.

"Must be." Sherlock replied, going to work, muttering, "odd though…" as he went.

"What is?" Lestrade asked, looking to Rose, knowing she was more likely to answer him if she knew.

"He hasn't been in touch." She explained.

"Then we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?" The DI asked her, getting a nod from the younger woman. He looked around, just then noticing the absence of the doctor. "No John?"

Rose just gave Lestrade a warning look, the DI wisely shutting up after that. He didn't quite know why, but Greg Lestrade had found that Rose was just as confident and sure of herself as Sherlock was, just not as arrogant about it. He had also thought that she was a special find; to be able to work so well with Sherlock while not taking any of the madman's crap. This had earned her the DI's respect and if she didn't want him to pry, he certainly would try not to.

"Any ideas?" She asked Sherlock.

"Seven, so far." He replied, still examining everything.

She nodded, knowing he would probably narrow it down before they left again. Lestrade however, was a little surprised at the amount of possibilities that the consulting detective had come up with, having spent so little time on the scene. "Seven?"

Sherlock just ignored the question, taking out his own, modern magnifying glass and looking at the dead man's face, moving around the body, flapping a piece of material and taking off one of the dead man's socks - much to Rose's bewilderment.

When he stood up again, Sherlock looked to Rose, indication to the body slightly as he walked a little to stand on the other side, thinking as he did so.

Rose looked to Lestrade who indicated clearly; go right ahead. She placed the back of her hand of the dead man's arm, feeling the freezing temperature of the body. She nudged him a little and noticed that the body was quite stiff. She pulled a face. "I'm not expert but I'd say he was dead about a day, give or take a few hours." She had picked up a few things from John along the way, having been curious about how he could tell such things. She hadn't learned a lot though, just the basics. "Cause of death?" She asked, looking to Lestrade.

"Asphyxiation, apparently." Responded the DI.

She looked back to the face of the dead man and frowned. "Those are funny bruises." She pointed out. "Around the nose and mouth, but dotted around his face a bit further away as well." She cocked her head to the side, coming to a weird conclusion. "Almost like-"

"Fingertips." Sherlock finished for her, looking up from his phone for a second before going back to it, not looking at either of them.

"Exactly." Rose agreed, taking a deep breath. "I'd say late thirties? Maybe early forties, at a push. And hardly in the best condition."

"He's been in the river a long while, the water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock stated, looking up to them. "But I'll tell you one thing; that lost Vermeer painting's a fake."

"What?" Lestrade asked, Rose trying to make some form of connection but coming up blank.

Sherlock carried on with his thoughts though. "We need to identify the corpse, find out about his friends and…"

Lestrade knew he had to catch the man there though, or he'd never go back to it. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. What painting? What are you on about?"

"It's all over the place, haven't you seen the posters?" Sherlock asked. "Dutch old master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago. Now it's turned up, worth £30 million."

"Okay, so what has _that _got to do with the stiff?" Lestrade asked. Rose had been quite shocked with his blunt language when she first started working with them man; now she couldn't imagine how else he would speak.

"Everything." Sherlock said, excitement in his tone, eyes wide and shining slightly. _Here we go again_, she thought. But his next question threw her off that little bit more. "Have you ever heard of the Golem?"

"Golem?" Lestrade asked, the word seeming foreign on his tongue.

She thought back to the films her brothers used to watch. "It's a horror story, isn't it?"

Sherlock looked to her at her slight recognition at the word, even if it was a little distorted. "Jewish folk story, a gigantic man made of clay. It's also the name of an assassin. Real name - Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world." He pointed to the face of the dead man. "That is his trademark style."

Something click in Lestrade's mind then. "So this is a hit?"

"Definitely." Sherlock confirmed. "The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands."

"But what has this got to do with that painting? I don't see…" Lestrade asked, frustrated that the difficult man was not explaining things simply. Rose knew that he had phrased his words wrongly, though, anticipating Sherlock's reaction.

"You do _see_, you just don't _observe_!" Exclaimed Sherlock getting annoyed at having to explain all that he saw.

Lestrade looked as though he was about to snap back at the taller man, but Rose stepped in with a firm voice. "Yes, alright, alright, girls! Calm down." Lestrade just looked to the corpse again while Sherlock gave her a playful glare. She turned to him. "Sherlock, either accept that we don't have a clue what you're going on about, or educate us on your theory." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, which she stubbornly returned. After a second though, he backed down, knowing she wouldn't do so. She just pulled out a cigarette, lighting up.

Sherlock sighed before starting his fast explanation, walking them through his thoughts, bit by bit. "What do we know about his corpse? The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. There're pretty formal, maybe he was going out for the night. But the trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. They're both too big for him. So some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work?" He pointed to the middle of the dead body. "There's a hook on his belt…for a walkie-talkie."

"Tube driver?" Lestrade thought aloud.

Sherlock looked to him, then to Rose, raising an eyebrow for her idea. She thought a moment before giving her own thoughts. "Security guard?"

"More likely." Sherlock agreed, dismissing Lestrade's idea. "That'll be borne out by his backside."

Lestrade got really confused now though. "Backside?"

"Flabby." Sherlock elaborated. "You'd think he led a sedentary life."

"But..." Rose encouraged, knowing there was more.

"The soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good." Rose let a small smile of self pride grace her features as she took a puff on her cigarette. "The watch helps too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts."

"Why regular? Maybe he set his alarm like that the night before he died." Lestrade asked, wanting to be sure, not seeing how he came to such a specific conclusion.

"No, no, no. The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago, his routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man works somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution." He pulled something out of his pocket, holding it up for them to see. "Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognisably…?"

Rose took a closer look at it. "Tickets."

"Ticket _stubs." _He corrected. "He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of it's attendants as missing, Alex Woodbridge." He said, turning back to the body and indicating to it. "Tonight, they unveil the rediscovered masterpiece."

Rose started to nod, seeing where he was going with this and finding it made sense. "And why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant, right?"

"Yes." Sherlock said with finality, sure of his theory, now he had said it aloud. "The dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid £30 million. The picture's a fake."

There was a moment of silence between the three.

"Remind me never to play any games with you, Sherlock." Rose said in amazement. "That was fantastic!"

"Meretricious." Sherlock replied, shrugging slightly.

"And a Happy New Year." Lestrade said. Rose just furrowed her eyebrows, both her and Sherlock blinking a few times, giving Lestrade a confused look.

She looked back to the body, voicing her thoughts. "Poor sod."

After another second of contemplative silence, Lestrade spoke again. "Well, I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character."

"Pointless, you'll never find him, but I know a man who can." Offered Sherlock, getting a raised eyebrow from Rose as she raised the white stick to her lips again.

"Who?" Asked Lestrade, taking the bait.

"Me." Answered Sherlock simply, turning away form the scene and walking back up to the road.

Rose just looked to Lestrade, giving him a smirk. "Egoistical git, isn't he?" She asked, not waiting for a reply before running to catch up to the man.

"I heard that." Sherlock said as she walked beside him.

"Deny it?" She asked, smirk still in place.

"Of course not, though I do have a question for you." He replied.

"Ask away." She told him, knowing he would. She had told him not long ago that if he wanted something that he should just ask; if she didn't want to do something, she wouldn't.

"Why wouldn't you play a game with me?" He asked, sounding both curious and a little hurt; she would play games with Mycroft and practically everyone else. Why not him?

She just laughed slightly. "Sherlock, I didn't mean to offend you-"

"Didn't offend me." He interrupted, trying to hide his childish ways a little. She saw them anyway and threw him a smirk, which he, in turn, ignored.

"Either way, I just meant that you really don't like to loose, that was all." She said, tone going a little more serious at the end.

Sherlock went quiet at her words. She was right after all; he didn't like to lose, and would do his damnedest to make sure it didn't happen again.


	18. Chapter 18

**The Silent Game**

**Silent Impatience**

Sitting next to Sherlock in the cab, Rose watched the world go by, thinking about the next steps to take in their investigation, knowing Sherlock probably wouldn't tell her any time soon.

After a few minuets of silence, Sherlock bounced the pink phone in his hand, looking around the cab. "Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?" She frowned at his words, but before she could reply, he leaned forward to speak louder to the cabbie. "Waterloo Bridge?"

"Not the gallery?" She asked him, wondering what could be at Waterloo Bridge that would catch the man's attention.

"In a bit." He replied, looking through his pockets.

When he didn't continue, she thought she would voice a few questions. "Why The Hickman? Thought it was a gallery of contemporary art." She watched as he wrote a note on some paper from a battered and old looking notebook. She couldn't read what it said though. "Why have they got hold of an old master?"

"Don't know." Sherlock admitted, much to the young woman's well concealed surprise. "Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data…"

She knew where he was going with this though. "Where to, boss?" He ignored her however as he took out a fifty pound note, wrapped the written note in it, rolling it up into a small shape, stuffing it back in his pocket again.

A few seconds later, Sherlock shot forward. "Stop! Can you wait here?"

"What are you doing?" She asked, making to follow him out of the car.

"I wont be a moment." Was his reply, aimed at the waiting cabbie.

Rose followed Sherlock out of the cab, looking up just in time to see him land on the other side of a long line of dirty silver railings. Sighing, she gave a small jump, pushing herself over the cold steel after him.

Sherlock ran up the few steps to see a woman bundled up to keep warm, a bag of various belongings next to her. On seeing him approach, she asked her usual question. "Change? Any change?"

"What for?" Was his predicted reply, making her smile just a little. It was so rare that regular people would notice her, let alone talk with her.

"Cup of tea, of course." She smiled up at him, not taking any notice of Rose, who was watching them with a confused curiosity in her eyes. Rose's eyes only widened at Sherlock's next words.

"Here you go, a 50."

"Thanks." The woman replied, taking the money and starting to unroll it. Rose turned to follow the strange man as he started to head back to the cab again and so didn't see the homeless woman take out the written note. _Must be a big one if it's a fifty_, she thought briefly before putting the thought out her mind. _Doesn't matter though, this will last over half a month!_

"What are you doing?" Rose questioned Sherlock as she followed him back to the cab.

"Investing." He replied, but as he went to climb in the cab, he turned back to her, frowning slightly. "Have you got any cash?"

She just nodded, rolling her eyes. "Of course I have!"

"Good." He replied, getting into the cab. "Then we can head to the gallery."

A few minuets later, the cab pulled up outside the gallery, Sherlock getting out once more. As Rose went to follow him however, he held up a hand. "No, I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you address."

She didn't quite know what he was planning, but from the look of equal parts excitement and attempting-to-hide-something in his eyes, she doubted she would approve. She reminded herself that this was Sherlock though, but the thought did little to ease her conscious. "Okay, but whatever you're doing, don't get caught."

He just gave her a cold smirk. "I never get caught."

"Liar." She retorted, smirk of her own in place as she closed the door, taking out her phone to call Lestrade.

As the woman showed Rose to the Alex Woodbridge's room, Rose heard the information she was being given, making sure to remember it all. "We'd been sharing about a year. Just sharing." She was saying, as if to try to correct an unsaid statement. Rose just smiled slightly in understanding.

As she looked around carefully, trying not to disturb too much, the woman stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Rose pointed to a metal frame, covered by a cream sheet. "May I?" The other woman nodded and Rose pulled off the sheet, carefully folding it absentmindedly as she looked at the now uncovered telescope. "Stargazer was he?"

"God, yeah…" Replied the woman, the smile coming through in her tone. "Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time. He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him." She fiddled with something on the table of the room. "He was, err… never much of a one for hoovering." He laughed, thought it sounded a little watery to Rose, who just smiled slightly in return.

"What about art? Did he know anything about that?" Rose asked, feeling a little out of place intruding on the upset woman, but still needing to know the answers to her questions.

She sighed, collecting herself a little more. "It was just a job, you know?"

Rose nodded, and carried on looking around. "Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?"

"No." She replied. "We had a break in though."

This caught Rose's attention though. "What? When?"

"Last night." She replied. "There was nothing taken." Rose frowned,_ sounds as though they started looking for him here. _"Oh, and there was a message left for Alex on the land line."

"Who was it from?" Rose asked, taking a step forward.

"I can play it for you, if you like. I'll get the phone." The woman said, walking through to the other room.

"Thank you." Rose muttered, looking around the room again. As the woman came back into the room, Rose heard a beep from the phone, a voice ringing out.

"_Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when…" _The phone cut off there.

"Professor Cairns?" Rose repeated, committing the name to memory as well.

"No idea, sorry." She answered, shaking her head slightly.

Rose hummed for a second. "Can't call back?"

"I've had other calls since, you know. Sympathy ones." The woman said.

"Right." Rose replied.

As the woman walked to the other room, Rose heard her own phone beep, telling her she had a message.

_RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS_

_Have you spoken to West's fiancée yet?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

Rose sighed at the message, typing her own and sending it to the persistent man. She slipped the devise back into her pocket before taking her leave from the grieving friend.

Mycroft checked his phone briefly as it went off with a reply. He only had time to read it however, though it didn't make him happy at all.

_On my way now, Sir. Do be patient. RS_

The mocking of her working for him - in some form or another - he could take, but somehow, through their silly little games, Miss Rose Spencer had found one of the few things that annoyed Mycroft to no end; he hated being told to _be patient._

He still owed her a comeback from their last meeting and his next move would not be taken lightly; he would make sure of it.


	19. Chapter 19

**The Silent Game**

**A Silent Break**

"He wouldn't." The crying woman insisted. "He just wouldn't."

"Stranger things have happened." Rose said, hoping to read the woman's reactions. She wasn't disappointed.

"Westie wasn't a traitor!" She insisted, looking up to look Rose in the eye, watery blues meeting a cooler, darker shade. "It's a horrible thing to say!"

"I'm sorry." She replied, though not sounding very apologetic; it was just another part of the job. "But you must understand…"

"That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?" The fiancée interrupted.

Rose nodded slightly, face still in its cool arrangement of collectiveness. "He was a young man, about to get married, he had debts."

"_Everyone's_ got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country." Was the reply Rose got from the emotional woman.

Rose knew how interviews with the bereaved family usually went though and was not deterred. "Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?"

The mourning woman took a steadying breath before telling her side of the story. "We were having a night in. Just…watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat though this one." She paused a little, but Rose waited patiently. "He was quiet. Out of the blue he said he had to go and see someone." She had started crying again at this point.

"And you don't know who?" Rose asked gently. The woman just shook her head. Rose put a hand on the woman's shoulder, squeezing slightly in a comforting gesture. "We'll find out what happened, and when we do, we'll let you know as soon as we can, alright?"

The woman took a few breaths, collecting herself, and nodded. "Thank you, but I think you'd better be going now."

"Alright." Rose said, standing up, following the woman out of the living room, to the front door as she was seen out.

As the door opened, a man in a hat and pushing a bike came up the path. "Oh, hi Liz. You okay, love?" He looked concerned at her upset state.

"Yeah." She answered, wiping her face a little.

"Who's this?" He asked, noticing Rose's presence.

"Rose Spencer, 'ello." Rose introduced herself, giving a small wave as she did so.

"This is my brother, Joe." The fiancée told her. Her words reminded Rose to check up on her own brother soon. "Rose's trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe."

Joe looked her up and down, though not in an appreciative manner. "You with the police?"

Rose held her ground at the slightly affronted tone, raising her chin on instinct, though catching the motion and stopping after no more than a couple of millimetres. "In a manner of speaking, yeah."

"Well, tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous." He said, not breaking eye contact. _Hiding something_, Rose thought suspiciously.

"I'll do my best." Rose replied coolly. Joe just frowned ever so slightly, nodded and went inside, griping his sister's shoulder as he went past. Rose looked to the woman. "Well, thanks again for you help. And again, I'm very sorry for your loss." Rose turned to head down the path, but was called back by the woman.

"He didn't steal those things, Miss Spencer. I knew Westie, he was a good man. He was _my_ good man." She went inside, crying once more, leaving Rose a little lost standing out on the pavement. After a moment though, she pursed her lips and pulled out a cigarette, lighting up as she made her way to the main road. _Something's not right here, _she thought, looking up to the darkening sky, blowing smoke out into the evening that was steadily getting colder and darker, the street lights already sparking into life.

Getting out of the cab at 221B, she paid the cabbie and let herself into the flat. "Joe?" She called, heading to the living room, only to find it empty. She frowned a little, worry spiking.

There was a note on the kitchen table though, sitting on top of all the science equipment carefully. _Only Joe_, she thought as she went to pick it up, reading his familiar, scruffy hand writing.

_Little Sis!_

_Gone to stay at Zach's for a _

_couple of days, will only get _

_under your feet here. Plus _

_I can keep an eye on him _

_better here._

_Stay safe,_

_Joe_

She sighed as she read the words, knowing she could do nothing about them, yet still smiling at the little nickname Joe had used. However, a loud thump from upstairs brought her down to earth again.

She froze, not knowing who was home and not wanting to call out again, remembering the time she caught Mycroft's little assistant bugging their flat.

Creeping to the door though, she let out a small sigh of relief as she saw John moving quickly down the stairs, suitcase banging loudly behind him.

"John?" Rose questioned, wondering what he was doing.

He looked up sharply, apparently not having heard her come in. "Oh, hey Rose…um…"

Her eyes flickered to the case purposefully before looking up to meet his once again. "Going somewhere nice?"

He sighed tiredly, the tension leaving his face a little. Rose always had this knack for making things a little bit better. _She really is a good friend, _he thought. "Just up to Harry's for a few days." They both knew he didn't need to say anymore. He had had enough of Sherlock for a bit, needed a break and needed to think things through; John simply didn't understand how someone who helped so many could care so little.

Rose looked him in the eye for a second, her mind flashing briefly with the sting of the memories of each of her brothers leaving her behind; she really did hate it when people left. She nodded though, knowing it was what was right and that he would come back at some point anyway. "Alright. Well, tell her I said hello."

John frowned slightly, looking at his friend. He had seen the flash of hurt in her eyes, the way she looked to the floor now; _she's upset. _He didn't quite know why, but he knew he had to cheer her up a bit before he left. He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing a little, making her look up, defensive dark blue eyes hiding something from the eyes that met them. "I'll see you soon, yeah?"

Rose gave John a small half smile. "See you soon, John."

John just smiled back at her sadly, wishing he knew what was going through her mind. He was coming back after all, he just needed a break. He heard her go to the living room as he went out the front door, closing it softly behind him.

Hearing the door close, Rose thought once more about her brothers and when they left. _But John's coming back, he said so himself. _Once again, a small noise broke her from her troubled thoughts.

Looking at her mobile, she saw a message from Sherlock.

_Meet me at 221B_

_SH_

She smiled slightly, liking that fact that she was a step ahead of the genius, if only by accident. She then remembered Sherlock's words about finding the Golem.

An idea came to her then and she contemplated whether it was actually a good one before deciding it was probably needed, even if she didn't like the thought at all.. So, she got up and headed over to the draws of the desk, pulling one open and taking out the gun John had put in there, taking a handful of bullets, loading the gun quickly and easily.

She smiled as she tucked the hard metal into the waist band at the back of her trousers, pulling her coat over it, all the while remembering the bored evening about a week after she had started working with Sherlock.

The man himself had gone out for the evening - doing only god knows what - and John had gone out on a date, leaving the young woman alone in the silent flat. She had been incredibly bored, the silence starting to grate on her nerves and had taken the initiative to learn the ins and outs of their little weapon, taking it apart carefully, putting it back together again and firing several shots into the wall; anyone would assume it was the bored genius. The evening had been well spent; she now knew practically every inch of the gun and if either of her flatmates knew anything about her activities, they didn't mention it.

As she closed the front door, stepping back out into the cold - and now dark - outside air, a cab pulled up, Sherlock getting out of it. She also noted the familiar looking woman standing by the fence, a can jingling with some coins in her hand. "Any spare change? Any change? Spare any change?"

Seeing Sherlock approach, Rose put the familiar looking woman out of her mind for the moment. Turning to him, she said, "Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art."

"And…?" He asked, wanting more.

"And…" She started, casting her mind about for relevant facts. He grew impatient though.

"Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?" He asked, getting irritated. He walked off down the street, heading for the woman with the can.

Rose followed him, trying to redeem herself. "No, no, give me a chance! He was an amateur astronomer."

He just pointed behind her. "Hold that cab."

She did as she was told, but watched out of the corner of her eye as he went to speak with the begging woman.

"Spare change, sir?" She asked him.

"Don't mind if I do." He replied quietly, though Rose still heard him. She frowned at his words though, not understanding.

The woman passed him a note and he opened it, reading the words before pocketing the paper.

"Fortunately, I haven't been idle. Come on!" He said, walking back to Rose, holding the door open for her to get in the cab.

He noted the slight misshape in the back of the coat but didn't say anything about the gun he knew was concealed there, knowing she had taught herself how to use it a few weeks ago; he knew how many shots he had fired into the wall and coming home to find several more, it was hardly a big leap to guess what had happened.


	20. Chapter 20

**The Silent Game**

**The Golem's Silence**

As they walked down the alleyway, the cab having stopped the mouth to the large, dark space, Sherlock looked up, watching the stars between the roofs of the buildings either side of them. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

At his slightly awed tone, Rose snapped out of her troubled thoughts of brothers and doctors, looking first to Sherlock then to the sky, seeing a thousand shining stars, peppered across the velvet black sky, like a fine, sparkling, diamond dust.

"Very." She agreed, looking up to her friend once more. "Thought you didn't care about that sort of thing."

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it." He replied, voice loosing it's awed tone, going a little darker.

They were silent until they got to a series of tunnels, old brickwork for walls, the concrete floor wet with rain water and probably other things that Rose simply didn't want to think about. "Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answer phone at his flat, from a Professor Cairns."

Sherlock didn't acknowledge this new information though. "This way."

Rose sighed, following her insane friend. "Lovely part of town this, though I do wish you'd explain what we're doing here."

"Homeless network." Sherlock told her. "Really is indispensable."

"Homeless network?" She asked, not quite understanding fully.

Sherlock just smiled slightly though. "My eyes and ears all over the city."

"Ah, that's…clever. Brilliant, really." She complimented, wishing she had brought a torch with her. "So, you scratch their backs, and…?"

"Yes, then I disinfect myself." Sherlock answered, a little humour in his tone, though nearly everyone would miss it. Rose did though and smirked at the sound.

Sherlock apparently had not been caught unprepared and took out two torches, handing one to the young woman, getting a quiet "ta" in return.

As the looked about the tunnels, Rose found she was once again grateful that life had been relatively kind to her; she had a roof over her head and a very nice job - if a little dangerous at times - earning a nice wage. These people had barely anything. Rose moved the torch though, the spot of light finding a large figure unfolding itself carefully; she knew that if it wasn't the Golem, it certainly wasn't a friendly person.

"Sherlock, come on!" She hissed, pulling him gently to hide behind a brick wall, the pair of them standing under a graffitied fire exit sign. "How come he's sleeping rough?"

Sherlock poked his head round their hiding place before turning back to her, calm as could be. "Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues wont wag…much."

Rose then saw Sherlock bolt out of their hiding place and run as fast as he could towards the shadow of the man. Rose was just behind him, seeing a pale figure of a man get into a sleek black car just before it drove away in a cloud of smoky gas and water.

"No, no, no, no!" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing his arms around, stomping in a circle as he did so. "It'll take us weeks to find him again!"

Rose had a better use for her time though. "Or not. I think I know where he might be going."

Sherlock's head snapped to hers at this new information. "What?"

She started to make her way back to the road, turning as she walked so she was going backwards, smirking to him. "I told you!" She called back to him, smirk growing as he started to follow her. _Makes a nice change, _she thought. "Someone left Mr Woodbridge a message. There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Hurry up!"

Strong, bright lights shone from the projector as the woman moved switches on the control panel, a man's voice sounding out loudly through the auditorium. _"Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system, and the largest. Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it 11 times."_

"Yes, we know that." She replied to the voice that wouldn't do the same, fingers pressing several other buttons, the sounds of a tape fast forwarding replacing the male voice. "Come on, Neptune."

She heard a door bang behind her, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge; _thought there was just me here. _Holding her hand up to block the blinding light, she called out, "Tom, is that you?" On hearing no reply, she went back to her work, putting the strange noise down to a cleaner or something of the sort, the male voice ringing out again, giving facts about the universe to an audience of one, who had heard it all before anyway.

Suddenly a hand covered her face, large fingers pressing hard against her delicate skin, the fingertips gripping tightly. She moved her own hands up on instinct, trying to pry the hand away. It was too strong though and she couldn't breath.

"Golem!" A strong, deep voice rang out, heard over the scientific voice and the muffled cries of the woman.

Rose took out the gun, aiming it past Sherlock and towards the taller man who was in the middle of a murder, taking a steadying breath to stop the slight tremor in her hand; she couldn't afford to miss a shot at this point.

The lights went out then, flickering on and off as the tape did strange things that was surly not good for the equipment. "I can't see him." Rose cried out, panic starting to set in now.

Sherlock heard the emotion in her voice though, calling out her name to steady her thoughts. It worked as her thoughts froze for the briefest moment, then starting up again in a logical fashion; _lights are not on, go fix the lights, see the killer, don't die_. "I'll go round!" She called back to him, running off in the direction of the lighting panel she had noticed earlier.

Sherlock knew she needed the distraction and called out loudly. "Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?"

Rose flicked a switch just above a small red light, the lights coming on again. _Thank god for generalisation in stage work, _she thought randomly, glad that she had recognised the black out switch easily. Looking down on the stage however, she saw - now it was flooded with light - Sherlock stood facing her, looking around the room quickly. But she also saw the tall multicoloured shadow creep up behind him, strong, deadly hands reaching out. "Sherlock!" She screeched at the top of her voice.

Sherlock heard her call, the sound letting fear seep into his system a second before hands covered his face, his airways cut off. He tried to get the hand off his face, but it didn't work.

Rose ran down the steps as fast as she could, coming to a stop in front of the struggling detective and the murdering assassin. "Golem! Let him go!" She demanded, aiming the gun at the taller man.

The Golem moved around though, never keeping still, trying to keep Sherlock in front of him. Sherlock himself looked Rose in the eye and tapped the Golem's wrist repeatedly; a sign to shoot the man now. She couldn't though, she didn't want to hit her friend by mistake.

Sherlock saw her hesitance and knew what she was thinking. _Now is not the time to be nice to people_, he thought irritably. He looked her in the eye though, eyes widening a little and nodded as much as he could.

She saw the movement and it gave her strength; he wanted her to shoot. She still had to give the other man a chance though, she couldn't just shoot. "Let him go now, or I will shoot." She stated calmly, the ice in her tone matching Sherlock's when he spoke to Anderson. Sherlock heard the tone and decided he never wanted to hear it from her again; she really was willing to kill.

Through all of the little signs and signals that the young woman and the detective were making, Dzundza had been planning, quickly and on the spot. He had moved forward enough now and put his on-the-spot plan into action.

Rose watched as Sherlock was thrown to the floor, concern for her friend making her look to see if he was alright rather than watch the killer. The killer himself kicked a leg up and hit the back of her hand, the gun falling away across the floor. In a spilt second, the Golem had thrown Sherlock to the floor, disarmed Rose and was now choking her instead. He brought up a knee, ramming it hard into her ribs, receiving a satisfying grunt of pain from the young woman.

Sherlock pulled himself up off the floor, and tried to pull Rose way from the Golem, only to be knocked down again, landing with a grunt as he was slightly winded. He had managed to pull Rose with him though, the young woman lying next to him, trying to catch her breath once more as the detective got up for another round with the freakishly tall killer.

Putting up his fists, Sherlock drew the Golem's attention away from the injured woman, though he started to have second thoughts as the tall and imposing man approached him, arms by his side, walking like some creature you would see off of the television films John and Rose sometimes watched. Sherlock threw a predictable punch, but it was quickly blocked by an anticipating arm, the companion of which quickly slammed down on the violent limb, sending Sherlock to the floor for a third time. He was getting quite sick of the floor.

However, the hard wood floor wasn't his main concern as the Golem once again covered his face, this time with both hands. It was a second later that Sherlock saw Rose's face peer over the Golem's shoulder as she threw both arms around the tall man's neck.

The plan didn't quite go as planned though, the Golem standing straight, lifting her up off the floor by about a meter or so, her legs automatically wrapping around the man's waist in an attempt to hold on as he tried to shake her off. She briefly caught Sherlock's confused looking face as she was thrown about. She would have laughed if they were not in such a deadly situation.

Sherlock watched his friend hold on for dear life for a brief second, his mind almost blank apart from the vague thought of _what…? _It was after that second that he snapped out of his thoughts, deciding he should probably be helping her instead of sitting on the floor just watching.

As he got up though, Rose was pulled from the Golem's back and literally thrown at Sherlock, knocking the man flying once more. As he landed though, he felt the gun beneath his knee and pulled it up, aiming and shooting a few bullets at the retreating form of the Golem. Barely a second later, the distinctly visible man wasn't visible anymore, having run through the doors to the auditorium, his escape having been made.

"Damn it!" Sherlock shouted, pounding a fist onto the floor.

Rose looked up from where she was crumpled on the floor, having learned the valuable lesson that she didn't like to be thrown about like a rag doll. "You alright Sherlock?"

Sherlock heard his companion question him and was reminded that she was injured a fair bit. He looked over to her, eyes scanning her form for any permanent damage; her throat was red - again - and she seemed to wince with every breath she took. "I'm fine, but are you? How's your ribs?"

She pulled herself up, walking over to him and offering him a hand, which he took, allowing her to help pull him up, taking the gun with him and handing it back to her. "Oh, my ribs are fine, but why do they always go for the bloody throat?"


	21. Chapter 21

**The Silent Game**

**Painting The Silence**

They stood in front of the _Lost Vermeer, _Sherlock, Rose and Lestrade, joined by Miss Wenceslas, all of them just looking at the painting. The silence was broken by Sherlock.

"It's a fake. It has to be."

"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." The older woman told then, still denying the fraud.

"It's a very good fake, then." Sherlock replied, turning to the woman suddenly, annoyed that she still denied it. "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?"

She just turned to Lestrade. "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?"

Before she finished speaking though, the pink phone rang out again. Sherlock answered it. "The painting is a fake." An intake of breath was the only reply they got. "It's a fake, that's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." There was another ragged intake of air. "Oh, come one, proving it's just a detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake, that's the answer, that's why they were killed." Sherlock was getting very annoyed now, the emotion showing through his careful composure. Rose shot him a warning look and he took in a breath, composing himself once again in the silence. "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"

"_Ten…" _Was the answer he got, a small voice of a boy child ringing out in the show room. Sherlock took it as time to work though, spinning around and looking at the picture once more.

"It's a kid!" Lestrade said, looking at the older of the two women in horror. He looked to Rose then. "Oh god, it's a _kid!"_

But Rose was a little more concerned at the content of the voice, rather then the speaker. "What did he say?"

"_Nine…"_

"He's giving me time…" Sherlock muttered, body not resting as it bobbed about, eyes still scanning the picture.

Rose brought her hand up to her mouth, covering it in total horror. _Ten seconds… just a child! _"Jesus…"

"It's a fake, but how can I prove it?" Sherlock thought aloud. "How? How?"

"_Eight…"_

He rounded on the woman. "This kid will die if you don't tell me why this painting is a fake. Tell me!"

"_Seven…"_

He held his hand up though, looking back to the picture. "No, shut up! Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out. It must be possible. It must be staring me in the face."

Rose started to scratch her arms, a nervous habit she had picked up when stressed. She walked a few steps backwards, not able to hold still much longer, but feeling the cut on her knee tug at the movement, the sure-to-be large bruise on her ribs burning a little more.

"_Six…"_

"How? Woodbridge knew, but how?" Sherlock was getting really stressed now, panicking about a young and probably innocent child dying in such a violent death, most likely taking a few dozen people with him, possibly other children; he hated the ones with children.

"_Five…"_

Rose looked up then, realisation dawning. "It's speeding up!"

"_Four…" _The child's voice was starting to get really shaky now, as though he was about to cry.

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed. "In the planetarium, you heard it too." He said rounding on Rose, pointing to her. She frowned, mind kicking into gear, eyes scanning the picture once more.

Her eyes widened as she saw it. "The name though…" She whispered.

"Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock said, pushing past the three of them, giving Rose the pink phone and taking out his phone and searching as quick as he could, winning smile on his face.

"What's brilliant? What?" Lestrade looked between the two of them.

"_Three…"_

"This is beautiful." Sherlock said, turning back to them. "Love this!"

"_Sherlock!" _Lestrade shouted, the pressure too much for niceties and politeness; there was a child's life on the line.

"_Two…"_

"The Van Buren Supernova!" Sherlock shouted into the pink phone, having snatched it back off Rose.

There was an infinite moment of silence, painful to watch and even worse to experience. He had stopped the clock, but Rose didn't know if was in time. _There was no number one_, she thought, hope sparking at the corners of her mind.

"_Please, is somebody there? Somebody help me." _

They all breathed a sigh of relief at the call for help, knowing the boy would live, as well as anyone in the near vicinity to the child.

Rose saw Sherlock literally sag with relief for one moment before he pulled himself up and turned to Lestrade, giving the DI the pink phone. "There you go. Go and find out where he is and pick him up." Lestrade just took the devise and left without a word.

Sherlock turned to Rose, seeing the relief in her dark blue eyes. He smiled slightly at her, pointing to the painting. "The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. Exploding star. Only appeared in the sky in 1858." He held up his phone and went to walk out of the room.

Rose just stepped forward and smiled slightly. "So how could it have been painted in the 1640's?" She let out a sigh, the ache in her ribs flaring a little more. "Incredible…"


	22. Chapter 22

**The Silent Game**

**Silent Impatience**

Sitting in Lestrade's office, Sherlock adopted his thinking position, watching the criminal woman closely who was sat in front of Lestrade, Rose standing in the doorway, watching them all in silence.

"You know, it's interesting." Sherlock started. "Bohemian stationary, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, _Miss Wenceslas_. This whole case had a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?" With no response, Sherlock continued looking at the woman, but was now talking to Lestrade. "What are we looking at, Inspector?"

Lestrade thought for a second, knowing what Sherlock was trying to do. "Well, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact, at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flat…"

"I didn't know anything about that!" She cried, snapping under the pressure of such responsibility. "All those things, please, believe me." Rose saw Sherlock nod to Lestrade; she was telling the truth. "I just wanted my share. The 30 million." She looked between the two men and Rose saw the defeat in her posture. The woman sighed heavily. "I found a little old man in Argentina. A genius - I mean, really. Brushwork, immaculate. Could fool anyone." Sherlock just hummed in response as the younger woman raised an eyebrow. "Well, nearly anyone." She rephrased. "But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea. A spark which he blew into a flame."

"Who?" Sherlock said sharply, head snapping away from the window where he had turned in his boredom.

"I don't know." She said. Lestrade laughed at her though, not believing her words. Rose frowned at the action; she still seemed to be telling the truth by her eyes. "It's true! It took a long time but eventually I was put in touch with people. His people…" Sherlock sat up at this point, interest spiking. "Well, there was never any real contact. Just messages…whispers."

"And did those whispers have a name?" Sherlock asked, almost spitting the words out in his attempt to get an answer.

The woman looked to Lestrade, trying to get some reassurance of her safety; the sharp featured man was scaring her. She opened her mouth to speak, trying to say something, but couldn't. She just nodded, closing her mouth again, trying to find some courage.

"Moriarty." She eventually said, her accent thick, the word sending a chill down Rose's spine in remembrance of the last time she had heard someone else utter the name.

Rose's phone beeped then, telling her that she had a message. As Sherlock leant back in his chair, she took out the devise and looked at the screen, sighing heavily at the words it showed.

_My patience is wearing thin, my dear._

_Mycroft Holmes_

"Sherlock, I've got to go." She told the man lost in his thoughts, getting no response. She looked to Lestrade then, knowing he was far more likely to listen. "Call me if you need anything, yeah?"

"Alright." He replied, looking between a thinking Sherlock and a tired looking Rose.

He could never understand how she could still function all the time, always working and thinking; he knew Sherlock must have kept her awake most nights with either theories, experiments or simply his damned violin. As he watched her leave he felt a familiar sensation of pride in the young woman; she did so much and made it look easy and Greg knew from just working with the madman genius that working with him _and_ living with him is far from the fact.

"So this is where West was found, right?" Rose asked the railway worker as they walked towards the tracks.

"Yeah." He replied. "You gonna be long?"

"Might be, yeah." She replied a little distractedly, trying not to loose her footing on the gravel ground; heels and gravel really didn't play well together.

"Are you the police, then?" He asked, looking her over briefly.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. No one ever believed her to be working with the police; she looked too young and simply not the type. "Sort of."

"I hate 'em." He said sharply.

She frowned slightly, wondering if he was going to be difficult. "The police?"

"Nah, jumpers." He clarified, sounding confused as to how she could have not understood him the first time. "People who chuck 'emselves in front of trains. Selfish bastards."

Rose was glad that he wouldn't be difficult but didn't quite know what to say to his comments. "Well, that's one way of looking at it, I suppose."

"I mean it." He told her. "It's alright for them. It's all over in a split second, strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, eh? They've got to live with it, haven't they?"

As the man waffled on, Rose frowned, thinking on his words; strawberry jam all very the lines. _But the lines are practically clean, of blood anyway_. She double checked though, running a finger over the metal of one of the lines, finding only a bit of grime of her fingertips.

"Speaking of strawberry jam, there's no blood on the lines. Has it been cleaned off?" She asked, wondering if someone could give her a decent answer.

"No, there wasn't that much." The man replied as she stood up again.

She frowned at this. "But you said his head was smashed in."

The man nodded. "It was, but there wasn't that much blood."

"Okay…" She said, frowning, looking back to the lines, mind thinking of possible solutions.

The man saw he probably wasn't needed anymore and threw a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll leave you too it, then. Just give us a shout when you're off."

"I will." She replied absently, not looking up to him.

_Okay, _she started to think, putting the facts in order.

Andrew west got on the train. _Or did he? There was no ticket on the body… but how did he get here then?_

A small metallic screech sounded then as the lay lines crossed over. She watched the metal move, frowning as she did so. _The points!_

_But the blood. _There would have been a lot of blood when he was killed, but there was barely any blood on the tracks._ So it would be logical to say that he wasn't killed here then. But where?_

Her phone went off then, announcing that she had a text. Hoping it wasn't Mycroft again, she opened the message, raising an eyebrow in question.

_21 Saltram Crescent_

_Don't do anything I wouldn't do!_

_SH_

"Ah, brilliant…" She muttered, pocketing the devise and heading back to find a cab once more. _Looks like it's house braking time again._

On her way to the mystery address, Rose thought about other relevant facts; like the missile plans. She was sure that, had they left the country, Mycroft would have heard about it and since she had not been told about it, she would think it safe to conclude that they hadn't left the country. _But why? _There would probably be a fair few buyers for that kind of information so the person in possession of them can't know what to do with such a thing.

She was broken from her thoughts by the cabbie. "Here we are, love."

Glancing at the meter, she handed him a few notes and got out. "Thanks!" She called to him, closing the door behind her, looking up and down the street, looking at the numbers on the houses to find where number 21 would be. She had gotten out of the cab a little way away, just to be sure she wasn't seen so easily.

Having found the right house, she looked around conspicuously, putting both hands in her pockets, pulling her coat tighter around her waist, feeling the gun in the back of her trousers press into her lower back.

Jogging up the steps to the house, she scanned the windows, finding no movement inside. _Now how do I get in? _She saw there was a welcome mat and looked under it, finding a spare key.

_When will people learn? _She thought, opening the door and stepping inside, closing it once more, all without making so much as a whisper of a noise. She held still for a moment, listening to see if anyone was actually inside, but on hearing nothing but her own breathing, she moved up the stairs, going through a doorway and finding herself in a living room.

Looking around she went to the window, hearing a train going past it. Looking down a little, she saw tiny specs on the off-white window sill. Taking out her magnifying glass - smiling slightly at the sight of it - holding it over the small dots, finding they were a dark scarlet colour.

_Blood. _

She smirked slightly, she had found their killer. _But why kill him?_

Just then she heard the front door open again. "Shit." She whispered, pocketing the magnifying glass once more and taking out the gun, keeping it just behind her thigh and out of sight.

She crept forward on her tiptoes so as to not let her heels click on the floor, tuning the corner to see down the hall way again. She saw a familiar man, just about to pick up his bike. As he did though he saw her and picked it up almost over his head, about to run at her. She raised the gun though, aiming at him with an almost steady hand.

"Don't even try it." She told him in a firm voice. He froze at the sight of the gun, eyes going wide. He brought the bike down again slowly.

"Let's talk about this…" He said, suddenly changing his tune, eyes not leaving the gun.

"Yes, let's." She replied calmly, not lowing her own weapon. "So put the bike down on the floor and we'll go sit down, eh?"

He did as he was told and she moved aside to let him into the living room. As he sat on the sofa, hands on his knees and eyes on the floor, she stood by the doorway, gun in her pocket but her hand still holding it, ready for it to be drawn at a moments notice.

"So." She started.

"He wasn't meant to…" He started shakily, eyes still not looking up. "What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus…"

"Let's start with something simple, then. Why did you kill him?" Rose asked, all business, voice as blank as she could make it.

"It was an accident. I swear it was." He told her, looking up, pleading eyes meeting cold blue ones.

"But stealing the plans for the missile defence program wasn't an accident, now was it?" She replied, voice sharp. She may have a gun but intimidation still worked well enough when interviewing people. She was rewarded with a slight flinch and his head dropping again.

"I started dealing drugs." He explained. "I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I don't know how it started. I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands. Serious people. Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job." He looked up to meet her eyes again, trying to get her to understand. "I mean, usually he's so careful. But that night, after a few pints, he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans. Beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick, he waved it right in front of me."

"And you thought, _why not?_" Rose stated.

"You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what not. And there it was. And I thought…well, I thought it could be worth a fortune. It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. The next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew."

Rose took in a deep breath. "So, what happened?"

"We got into a bit of a shoving match, he went down the steps out front. I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late. I just didn't know what to do. So I dragged him in 'ere. I just sat in the dark, thinking."

Rose's eyes darted over to the window ledge. "And then a neat little idea popped into your head."

"Took him out onto the ledge." He explained. "Put him on one of the trains."

"Literally, on the train." She replied. "He would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't hit a stretch of track with curves and points."

"Exactly." Joe whispered.

"Do you still have it, then - the memory stick?" She asked after a second. He nodded. "Fetch it for me, please. If you wouldn't mind."

He waited a second, then pulled himself up off the sofa, crossing the room. Rose watched him carefully, pondering what to do next.

Making up her mind, she took out her phone and called Lestrade.

"_Lestrade."_

"Just me." She said into the receiver. "Is he there?"

"_Yeah, wanna talk to him?" _He asked, knowing that if she wanted to talk to him, calling the man himself would be useless.

"No, just checking in. Just tell him he was right." Rose asked of the DI.

"_Yeah, I will. You coming to get him or should I just send him home?"_ Lestrade asked, his words making Rose smile internally.

"I ain't his mother, he can do what he wants. I'm going home after this though." She informed him.

"_Alright." _She heard him sigh then. _"He's just sent a couple of my officers somewhere."_

"If they've listened to him, it's probably here. I'll meet them, then be off." She explained.

Joe had walked up to stand in front of her by now, holding up a small, black memory pen, red stripe down the side. She took it off of him, taking her hand off of the gun for a split second before pocketing the small devise and replacing her hand where it was, nodding over to the sofa.

After her phone call with Lestrade, Rose had only had to wait for a couple of minuets before the officers showed up. They both knew her and why she was there, having worked with her before. As she explained the situation outside - Joe having been cuffed and taken to a police car - Rose lit up. By the time she had finished her cigarette, she had explained everything and was well on the way to the main road to catch a cab back to 221B.

Going through the front door, she was once again reminded the nether Joe nor John would be there; the thought brought her mood down again. She went to her own room, taking off her coat and changing into a comfy t-shirt for the night, planning on just relaxing until the next day.

She also took everything out of her coat pockets, laying it all out on her made up bed; half a packet of cigarettes and her lighter, the gun, the memory pen, some spare change and her mobile phone. After slipping her mobile into her trouser pocket, she unloaded the gun once again and put into the back of her trousers and it's ammo into another pocket.

Turning back to the bed, her gaze fell on the memory pen; she should give it to Sherlock, but she didn't quite want to. She didn't know why. Sitting on the bed, she thought about it, coming to an unsurprising conclusion not much later; she didn't trust him with it.

The thought made her frown deeply. She wanted to trust him and it's not like she had a choice about things, he was her boss. The again, she did know Sherlock and knew what he was capable of. She sighed deeply, lighting up another cigarette as she lay back on her bed, thinking about trust and her unpredictable friend and flatmate.

Sherlock walked into the living room only to find it empty of both his flatmates. Rose should have beaten him home by now though so he concluded that she was most likely in her room.

He checked his experiments, then his email, finding nothing that caught his interest. So he decided to simply think about what could happen next in the case of the bomber.

He had just thrown himself in his chair when he heard Rose coming up the stairs, her door shutting quietly just seconds before.

He watched her as she walked in the room, raising her hand about to throw something to him. He raised his own hand and caught it easily as she said, "Here, you can give it back to Mycroft. I'm too tired to deal with him at the moment."

Sherlock caught the small piece of plastic and pocketed it swiftly, glancing over his flatmate quickly as she took the gun from her trousers and put it on the desk, taking a handful of ammo and putting it in one of the draws, placing the gun in after it. She had bags under her eyes, which were half closed and she seemed to be a little heavier than usual. He frowned inwardly; _she was never this tired, maybe the case was getting too much for her._

He sighed, looking off into the distance and away from the young woman as she went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea for herself. It was then that he thought about his other flat mate and realised he hadn't seen the doctor for some hours. "Where's John?" He asked.

"Gone to Harry's for a few days." Was the reply he got. "He should be back soon though."

Sherlock just hummed in reply, hands coming together under his chin. Rose came back into the room then, cup of tea in hand. Heading for the desk, she took a slight detour and picked up her laptop from the side of the sofa, noting Sherlock's slightly longer exhale of breath; the only indication that he had still not been able to guess the password to the folding devise.

An hour or two passed before any more noise was made from either of them apart from the clicking of the laptop keyboard. The sound was that of Sherlock shouting at the television that Rose had turned on to keep him a little more occupied when she had noticed his hand getting a little restless, his index finger making the motion of pulling a trigger. "No, no, no! Of course he's not the boys father." The madman was shouting at the flickering box of light. "Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"

The sudden out burst made Rose jump slightly, though the content of it made her smile a little. "Knew it was dangerous…." She muttered.

"Hm?" Sherlock hummed in question.

"Getting you to watch crap telly." She explained.

Sherlock just sniffed. "Not a patch on Connie Prince."

Rose just chuckled. "Still waiting for it, you know."

"Waiting for what?" Sherlock asked, brain automatically wracking it's seemingly endless supply of data to try to get ahead of the conversation. He didn't get anywhere.

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you would have cleared up the fake painting business a little bit quicker." She said, still not looking away form the screen of her laptop.

"Didn't do you any good, did it?" Was the snarky reply she had gotten in response.

"No." She replied lightly, hitting the power button on the laptop. "But then again, I'm not the worlds only consulting detective."

"True, but you are his assistant." Sherlock retorted, always trying to get the last word.

Rose just chuckled again, rubbing her ribs as they ached slightly once more. Closing the laptop she got up and went to take it back to the side of the sofa. "Going out for a bit; we are nearly out of milk and I might actually want some cereal tomorrow morning. If we have time that is."

Sherlock frowned slightly. "You never have breakfast."

Rose smirked as she debated a coat or not; it was true. She barely ever had breakfast, never mind cereal. Though she did like cereal once in a blue moon and liked to have the choice non the less. "That's why I said _might_." She said, deciding that she wouldn't be that long.

Sherlock just hummed slightly again, turning back to the television screen, hearing as his flat mates steps sounded down the stairs and out of the front door. He waiting two seconds before grabbing his own laptop off the coffee table and turning it on, logging it and going to his web page.

Clicking to update his blog he typed in a message, knowing that the bomber he was contacting would definitely be watching.

_Found: The Bruce-Partington Plans. Please collect. _

_The pool. Midnight._

Hitting the send button, Sherlock smirked slightly at his plan. Then for the first time in a long time he had a thought; was he doing the right thing?

The consulting detective frowned; it would appear that he had developed some form of a conscience. He was now considering whether he should be doing this or not, if it was _right_ to do it.

He knew John wouldn't approve of it. The good doctor had morals far too high to do such a thing… but then again, Sherlock Holmes wasn't John and John Watson wasn't Sherlock. They were two different men with two different outlooks on life, on what was right and wrong, on what was acceptable and unacceptable, on what should and shouldn't be done.

_John isn't here though._

Sherlock frowned as his own mind fought back then; _Rose is here_.

What would Rose think? She would probably not agree to it either but she would certainly understand a lot better than John would.

After a surprisingly long time of five minuets, Sherlock frowned at the little USB pen he had taken out of his pocket, the two, thin green stripes standing out against the black of the little box of plastic and electrical data. Why was he even debating this? The message was sent, the cards had been dealt all that was left to do was to follow through and catch the bomber.

Wondering if he would regret it, Sherlock pushed himself off the chair, muttering a quiet, "hell," as he went, moving swiftly out of 221B, taking only one detour to the desk draw, heading to the pool to meet his biggest challenge yet - and his most interesting one.


	23. Chapter 23

**The Silent Game**

**The Silent End**

Rose woke up, several facts sticking in her brain. She didn't like any of them.

The first fact she registered was a quiet humming in her ear, though upon opening her eyes, she found that she was alone, propped up against the back of what appeared to be a changing room stall, the sort you would find in a public swimming pool, complete with little drain.

She noticed two things then and didn't know which to consider first. One was the large and bulky jacket attached to her torso, tell tale wires visible when she looked down the little gap just under her chin. The other little thing she had noticed was a pressure in her left ear - the source of the humming.

As soon as she moved, pressing a hand to the cold tiled floor to get up, the humming stopped and in reaction, Rose froze.

"_You will listen and you will only do what I say you are to do." _A voice said, unusual accent ringing out, the voice eerily familiar. _"Get up."_

She pushed herself up, eyes scanning through all she could see of the area out side of the open door.

"_Very good." _The voice praised, condescending manner painfully obvious to the young woman. "_Now, I want to play my little game; I get ever so bored…"_

Keeping her voice level, Rose spoke clearly. "And if I don't want to play?"

A chuckle just sounded from the ear piece. _"Ooh, a feisty one." _

Suddenly a gun shot sounded and the wall just behind Rose's head exploded into a cloud of plaster dust and tiny shards of tile. The young woman turned her head away sharply, pony tail whipping around, but she didn't throw herself to the floor, knowing that if she did, they may just shoot her - if only by accident.

"_I really would hate to put a bullet in your pretty little head." _The voice drawled. Rose swallowed her growing fear and nodded, closing her eyes in surrender, knowing she had no choice. "_Good girl. Now, when I tell you to do something, you do it. Nod if you understand." _

Rose took a deep breath and held her head up to it's usual height and nodded. It was all she could do.

Sherlock walked forward, his own footfalls sounding out against the moving water of the swimming pool. The large room was dark enough to provide shadows, even though the pool itself was light up, the half a dozen lights on the ceiling proving a bit more illumination to the spacious room. Eyes scanning everywhere, Sherlock looked around the room. Seeing no-one in the open, he did a slow spin, taking in all the shadows behind him as well.

"Bought you a little getting-to-know-you present." He said clearly, turning back to the pool, holding up the memory pen so it was level with his face. Still looking around, he carried on. "That's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance." A little frustration leaked into his tone now; he didn't like to be manipulated, not my anyone. "All to distract me from this."

Hearing a metal door open, the hinges screeching from disuse, Sherlock turned to see who it was.

The silhouette moved from one of the changing room cubicles and out into the light. What he saw made his eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting, this had not been it.

"Evening." Said Rose, voice calm as could be, eyes as guarded as usual. Her hands were in the pockets of the bulky coat she wore, though Sherlock didn't take much notice of this little fact - it was irrelevant for know. His mind was spinning for an explanation, a reason, a _how_. "This is a turn-up, isn't it Sherlock?"

"Rose!" He finally managed to spit out quietly. "What the hell…?

"Bet you never saw this coming." Rose said, but Sherlock now saw a little more than he first had; the speech pattern wasn't hers, the words were forced, there was no meaning behind the words. He frowned at the information.

Rose saw the change in his eyes and was glad of it. She didn't want Sherlock to think it was her.

Sherlock saw her hands come out of the coat pockets - a coat that she didn't even own - and open the jacket. It revealed several blocks of Semtex, all connected with wires. A red laser pointer appeared from nowhere, showing them that the bomb could be set off at a seconds notice.

"What….would you like me to make her say…next?" Rose asked Sherlock, the words now obviously not her own. As she spoke, Sherlock took several steps forward, eyes and head darting around to find the voice that was speaking through his flatmate. "Gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear."

"Stop it." Sherlock demanded quietly.

"Nice touch, this. The pool, where little Carl died." Rose said. "I stopped him. I can stop Rose Spencer, too." She let out a short and slightly ragged breath at this point before pulling another in, knowing the consequences of not doing so. "Stop her heart."

"Who are you?" Sherlock said loudly, now standing just over a metre away from Rose, still looking about the shadows.

Another door opened then, a voice ringing out through the room. "I gave you my number." Rose's eyes widened at the sound, the voice that matched the one from her ear. "I thought you might call."

Sherlock saw the figure of a slightly familiar man walk slowly around the pool. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" He asked as he walked, clam as could be.

Sherlock pulled the gun out of his pocket, aiming it at the slowly moving man. "Both." Was the casual remark he replied with, making Rose almost roll her eyes at the way the acted together.

"Jim Moriarty." The man introduced himself. "Hi." Sherlock took a better look at the man then, recognising him from somewhere. "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" He mocked, seeing Sherlock try to place him somewhere. "Oh. Did I really make that much of a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." Sherlock looked away from Jim for a second, looking to Rose who seemed to be piecing together a puzzle. Jim caught the movement though. "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty.

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a _teensy glimpse _of what I've got going on out there in the big, bad world." Jim started to tell them. "I'm a specialist, you see. Like you."

Sherlock held the gun steady. "Dear Jim… Please will you fix it for me, to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so." Jim stated, his tone prideful.

"Consulting Criminal." Sherlock said, an air of awe in his voice. "_Brilliant_."

"Isn't it?" Jim said, looking really pleased with himself for his choice of job. "No-one ever gets to me. And no-one ever will."

Sherlock cocked the gun. "I did."

"You've come the closest." Moriarty corrected. "Now you're in my way."

"Thank you." Sherlock replied.

"Didn't mean it as a compliment." Moriarty retorted.

"Yes, you did." Sherlock replied.

"Yeah, okay, I did." Jim admitted, shrugging. "But the flirting over, Sherlock. _Daddy's had enough now_." He said, his voice a sing song tone that was just plain creepy, if nothing else. "I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, ever thirty million quid, just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning…_my dear_. Back off.

"Although I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. You didn't even notice. Even Rosie here noticed something wasn't quite right, didn't you, my dear?" He said, running a hand down her arm. She didn't flinch or move a muscle, just let him get on with whatever point the was trying to prove. He just chuckled at her before looking back up to Sherlock. "Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." Sherlock told him.

"That's what people _do_!" Jim shouted, the sound echoing around the spacious room, folding back on them. Rose flinched at this.

A second passed with both men glaring at each other, though you wouldn't see the glare in either of their faces. Sherlock broke the silence first. "I will stop you."

"No, you wont." Was the casual reply he got.

Sherlock ignored him, looking to Rose instead. "You alright?"

Rose did nothing though, remembering Jim's words.

However, Jim leaned in close and whispered in her ear. "You can talk now Rosie, my dear."

She just turned to look at him. "You bastard." She got a smirk for her troubles.

Taking her words to mean she was actually okay, Sherlock intervened. "Take it." He said, holding up the memory stick. Two sets of eyes darted to it.

"Mm? Oh…" Moriarty started, turning away from the young woman who's eyes were burning with emotions that Sherlock couldn't quite read. "…that? The missile plans." Jim took the pen drive off of Sherlock and brought it up to his lips. "Boring! I could have got them anywhere." With that he threw the little stick into the pool.

Seconds after he did so, Rose ran forward and threw one arm around Moriarty's neck, the other pinning one of the man's arms behind his back. "Sherlock, run!" She shouted.

Sherlock himself felt his eyes widen even more at the proposition she was making, the situation she was putting herself in. She was willing to die. For him. He couldn't comprehend it.

All through the men's banter back and forth, she had been thinking. She was the one with the bomb strapped to her, not Sherlock. He could still get out of this alive - for her, it was less likely. And if there was one thing she was always sure about it was that she would never go down without a fight.

Jim laughed though, smiling through the pain in his arm, eyes wide with excitement. "Good! Very good."

Rose held strong though. "If your sniper pulls that trigger, Jim, then we both go boom."

Moriarty looked at Sherlock though. "Isn't she just a little fire cracker? I can see why you like having her around. The good doctor is good, but maybe a little…_too_ _good!" _Rose jerked her arm to shake Jim violently - she didn't like that he even knew John's existence, let alone that he would call the doctor _too_ good. "But then, people do get sentimental about their pets. They're so touchingly loyal. But oops!" He screeched, his tone changing suddenly again. "You've rather shown your hand there, Miss Spencer."

As he spoke, a single red laser dot sped across the room, coming to rest on Sherlock's forehead, the young woman's eyes widening at the sight, grip loosening slightly. Sherlock saw the change and knew what had happened.

Rose let go of Jim, taking two steps backwards and holding up her hands in surrender once more.

"Gotcha!" Moriarty bragged before straightening his suit, pulling at the collar slightly. "Westwood." He gave Sherlock an obvious look before becoming a little more serious again. "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

Sherlock answered in a familiar tone, one that said he was bored and that the answer was blindingly obvious. "Oh, let me guess. I get killed."

"Kill you?" Jim questioned, giving Sherlock a questioning look. "No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, some day. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." Somehow, Jim's words were worse than what Rose expected to hear, but it was Sherlock that saw the hateful fire in the shorter man's eyes. "I'll burn the _heart_ out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock replied calmly, voice not faltering even in the slightest. Rose frowned inwardly - she knew Sherlock had a heart, it was just very, _very_ well hidden, protected beyond imagination.

Jim just smirked though. "But we both know that's not quite true."

A silent moment passed between the two men. One where they both knew that the other was the biggest threat they had faced yet; and one would loose the game.

The moment was broken my Jim shrugging and pulling a face. "Well, I'd better be off." He said, looking around, from Sherlock to Rose and back again. "So nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock inched forward a little though. "What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?"

"Well then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." He pulled an over exaggerated surprised face, mouth as open as it would go, eyes the same, before smiling slightly. "Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really, I would. And just a teensy bit…_disappointed_. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long." He turned away from Sherlock, walking over to the stalls Rose had come out of. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock kept the gun trained on him, stepping forward to make sure he had left. "Catch you…later."

"No, you wont!" Came the childish reply before the door closed, leaving Sherlock and Rose alone in the darkened swimming pool.

Sherlock looked to Rose for a second before dropping the gun to the floor and moving over to her, starting to undo the coat/bomb attached to her. "Alright?" Getting no reply and finding himself very impatient, Sherlock asked again. "Are you alright?"

Rose brought her head down from looking at the ceiling in relief to see Sherlock moving quickly, already standing up straight again. "Yeah, I'm fine." Sherlock didn't slow his movements though and started to pull the coat off her arms. "Sherlock, I'm fine." She said more forcefully, but he didn't listen. "Sherlock…" Giving another tug on the coat, he almost threw her of balance. He slid the coat across the floor as she shouted at him, "Sherlock!"

The man seemed to get another idea as Rose stood there, trying to get her thoughts in order. She needed to figure out what to do next, but her brain was going a little slow. Sherlock, however, wasn't. He was grabbing the gun off the floor again, speeding through the cubicles where Jim had walked out, checking them to make sure that the consulting criminal was really gone.

As Sherlock came out of the stalls, he saw Rose had gone to lean up against one of the wall of the stalls, breathing heavily as she did so. He started to pace, scratching his head with the barrel of the gun as he did so.

Rose looked up to him then, once again noting his more than slightly frantic state. "Are you okay, Sherlock?"

He looked up then, looking at her, then eyes darting around once more. "Me? Yeah, fine. I'm fine. Fine."

"Right…" She replied disbelievingly. "Well, just relax a little, will you?"

He ignored her though and continued to pace. Turning back to her, he waved the gun about absently. "That, er…thing that you…that you did, that, um… you offered to do… that was, um… good." He finished lamely, but Rose knew he wasn't any good at this sort of thing and emotions were hardly her strong point either.

Deciding that a change of subject might make him ease up a bit as well as avoid an awkward conversation, she smiled to him before saying, "Well, I'm glad no-one saw that."

"Mm?" He hummed in question, though he didn't try to figure out what she was talking about; he had enough to think about at that moment.

"You. Ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool." She smirked slightly, patting her pockets to try to find a lighter and her cigarettes, frowning slightly as she found none. "People might talk."

"People do little else." Sherlock replied. He looked down to her then, mind relaxing slightly now that the danger had somewhat passed. He threw a smile down to her which she returned.

Shaking her head Rose let out a slight laugh of relief, looking down, about to push herself off the wall, though what she saw made her eyes widen once more, the laughter catching in her throat - a small red laser dot had reappeared, dancing over her chest. Looking up she saw several more on Sherlock, whose eyes had also widened at the sight of the small spots of light.

"Oh, shi-" But Rose's expletive was cut off by a squeaky door and a shout of fake apologies.

"Terribly sorry! But I'm _so_ changeable." Jim was back, Sherlock turning his back to the changeable man. "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue." Rose's head snapped up at that, the situation hitting her once again, heart beat picking up once more at the possibility of death. "You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock looked sideways to Rose, who, in turn, looked back to him. She swallowed slightly, closed her ever so slightly gaping mouth and nodded to him.

He saw the nod, but it was her eyes that told him all he needed to know; she trusted him. There was so much in those dark blue eyes that he would never figure out, never understand, no matter how hard he tried. There would always be secrets in those eyes; emotions, messages, thoughts and feelings, opinions and so much more. They were always guarded but now he could see that little bit more - she trusted him, trusted him completely.

He gave her the smallest of smiles, a sight that flickered so briefly over his features that Rose thought she may have imagined it, but she didn't pay much attention to the idea - there was something far more important and attention requiring happening in that moment.

Turning to the expensively dressed man, Sherlock raised the gun, the slightest of tremors in his hand at the high possibility of what was going to happen next. "And possibly my answer has crossed yours."

Rose's breath hitched as she watched the raised gun lower slightly, a new target in it's sights; the coat/bomb that sat on the floor, just feet in front of Moriarty.

She lowered her head, trying not to think of her parents and brothers, only focusing on the fact that John was nowhere near all of this mess.

Sherlock saw Rose's head drop out of the corner of his eye, her own eyes shutting but he kept his main gaze focused on those of the other man. The expression Jim gave him told him that the consulting criminal didn't believe Sherlock would pull the trigger. Sherlock's expression told Jim that he was wrong; he could do it and he would.

He had to.

He threw Moriarty one last venomous glare, eyes squinting in pure, burning hatred - and he'd never admit it to any person, but fear - as he focused on the muscles in his trigger finger, forcing them to work, pulling the trigger back.


End file.
